


Ardent Horticulturist Fucks Up Big Time

by AphelionWrites



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Ardent Horticulturist is my son and he needs to be rescued, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Carapaces, Dubious Consent, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, boxcars has some janky power absorbing magic, different kinds of magic, droog and slick have shadow magic, droog gets unhinged, fluffy slickdroogsleuth, like shadow magic and such, sleuth n deuce have incendiary, there is also other kinds its a fun au sort of headcanon things i love, there is oc x canon let me live, this is very self indulgent but if you check it out i will love you forever, well the pale is vague at the moment, whoops droog u lost something there its ur composure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphelionWrites/pseuds/AphelionWrites
Summary: This is a bit of a story about my OC's interactions with the Midnight Crew, that come about due to him being the gardener for The Felt as well as a general handyman and exterminator. A lot of complicated dynamics, interrogation, and background/foreground slickdroogsleuth and deuceboxcars. Also there is a bit of oc x canon, albeit not flushed just saying be preparedI love feedback, don't hesitate to tell me what worked and what didn't





	1. Chapter 1

Be Diamonds Droog. You're out and about in Midnight City, investigating the Felt's involvement with a certain Dersite. A single Dersite has been entering and exiting the Felt Mansion on a strangely regular basis, and at the frequency of their visits, they, the assumed man, could be of some use. For ransom, or information depending on how cooperative he turns out to be. You head down the street towards the building that Dersite seems to reside in, a small but expansive library with what appears to be a smaller room in the upper floor. Your shoes make little to no sound, the sidewalk beneath your feet solid and smooth. The moonlight shines of the surface of your shoes, and the buttons on your suit. You have a feeling you aren't going to be ruining another outfit because of the things you do for the cause against those green torsos.

A few fellow carapacians are still up and about, but none looking to dangerous or paying you any mind. Because of your lack of remarkable features, like Spades eyepatch, Hearts' enourmous height and girth, or Clubs' identifiable lack of height and tact, you are the least recognizable of the Midnight Crew, but the most well known second only to Slick. You are the most dangerous man in Midnight City, and everyone knows it. The moonlight glints off your carapace as you stop in front of the library. You glance left and right serruptitiously to make sure there's no one attempting to follow you, or be a witness. You rarely have tails, since you can easily disarm and harm them in moments.

You equip your pool cue, and try the door. Locked, as you expected. You reach into your jacket pocket for a pin and kneel, working the little pieces into place. You push the door open with a small click. The moonlight shines through the doorway, illuminating a patch of smooth wooden floor. You close the door behind you, being careful to close it quietly. You take a flashlight from your jacket when you return the pin, and reveal a suprisingly attractive building, with bookshelves covering the walls, and a tree... growing in the middle? You'd ponder the details later, you had a carapacian to catch. You move on silent shoes over the ground, and find a door in the back with stairs behind it, going upwards into the darkness. At the top of those stairs you find another door, which you easily open, walking into a cozy looking apartment. That is all you see before you feel an immense pain in the back of your head as metal makes contact with it.

You stumble and fall to your knees, seeing a pair of respectable shoes coming around from behind the door. Looking up and holding your head, you push yourself back onto your feet as a Dersite with a determined yet fearful expression and a sweater wielding a frying pan walks around to face you.

"What do you want." You stare into those white eyes and see sparks of anger, similar to those you can feel from your own Spades Slick.

"I'll ask the questions," you reply. The Dersite's grip on his seemingly impromptu weapon tightens.

"You break into MY house, and expect to be the only one with questions?" You reply by brandishing your pool cue in a threatening manner, watching him flinch. They seem to understand that gesture, and retaliate by begining to move, trying to get close enough to swing the frying pan again. Interpreting the Dersite's posture, they actually appear thoroughly shaken and more frightened than they try to come across as. You dequip your pool cue, and equip the clean handkerchief and bottle of chloroform you'd brought with you. The Dersites pale, barely discernable pale pupils shrink in anticipation of the attack. You steadily approach them, and frozen, they do not swing. You tip the uncapped bottle into the kerchief, before applying it to their face beneath the frightened eyes. The Dersite squirms momentarily, but goes limp. He slides onto his knees, and falls backwards onto his floor unconscious.

You grin as you put your kerchief and chloroform away. The throbbing in the back of your head makes that grin fade, your vision is still slightly blurred. You'd need Hearts to check it out, there was a defined bump. This bookish Dersite really packed a wallop. For now, you had what you came for. Crouching beside them, you slid your arms beneath their knees and back, lifting them in his arms, not very heavy, but it would still be a stretch to say he was a lightweight.

You leave the way you came, closing the door to lock it on your way out. You remove one of the recognizably Slick's knives you borrowed from him, with a price of course. He got to choose the movie for the next five movie nights with Sleuth, and Droog had to try some of his disgusting licorice tea, but now any citizens of Midnight City who approached the library or had any question to why this Dersite had disappeared, they had their answer. You'll have to remember to kiss him after trying that swill, he'd definitely enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

Be Spades Slick. One of your boyfriends should be returning to headquarters soon. He was off to find that Dersite that was getting annoyingly cozy with the Felt. He shouldn't be that dificult to kidnap, he looked like a wuss when you'd been watching him. You here a knock on the front door. The only one who knocks in your crew was Droog. You open the door to see DD, carrying a still unconcious Dersite, and walking in to dump the Dersite on the ground. He stumbles slightly and you catch him, asking what's wrong. 

He replies, "That shithead Dersite seems to have known I was coming, he was hiding behind a door and clubbed me with a fucking frying pan, I have a lump the size of a tennis ball." You pull your boyfriend to his feet, and run a hand over his head. DD winces when you find a prominent bump on skull, and you grit your teeth. 

"They're dead!" You prop Droog up and attempt to shank the unconcious Dersite, but you're stopped by him. 

"Not the time for knives, Slick, we need him alive." You shove your knife back into your jacket, and step over the Dersite and offer Droog a hand. He slips his own into yours, and you lead him down the hall to Hearts' room so he can check out his bump. You knock on the door, and after a moment of rustling, you hear a "Come in" muffled by the door. 

You open the door, and Hearts stands up from his bed and walks over, asking "What happened to yer head?" You glance over his shoulder and see Clubs sitting on his bed also, blushing and rebuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. You get the gist of what had been going on, but your boyfriend has a head wound. 

"Droog got belted in the head with a frying pan, can you check it out?" Hearts has DD turn around, and gently moves his hand over the bump on his head. 

"Alright Droog, I'd recommend a cold compress, I'll getcha one." Hearts ducks out of the doorway for a second, heading to the freezer. Clubs sat on the end of Hearts' enormous bed, and swung his legs, avoiding your somewhat appraising gaze. Hearts shouts from the kitchen for everyone to get their asses into the fuckin' kitchen cuz he's awake. Theres a crash, and Clubs jumps up, gasping Hearts' name quietly. 

All three of you haul ass out of Hearts' room, to see the Dersite in the sweater standing up, Hearts on one knee, and a dent in the fucking kitchen counter. Godammit, Droog gets all OCD when shit is out of place. You see the fire in the Dersite's eyes from a distance, nearly mimicking your own. You charge at him, drawing your knife, only having it knocked to the side by the bread board the Dersite had taken from the kitchen drawers. Hearts manages to get to his feet as the Dersite shouts in a growling tenor, 

"Come at me if you want to lose a tooth, bitches!" Hearts takes and snaps the board, getting punched in the side but still managing to pin the Dersite's arms behind him. You clock him as hard as you can in the jaw, once, twice, but the shithead's still awake.

"That's for injuring my Diamonds!" He coughs, spitting blood onto your hardwood floor. 

"Goddammit Boxcars get OFF!" You slug him one last time, and his eyes finally close, going down for the count with a pained grimace. You see Hearts raise his eyebrows when glimpsing the Dersite's face up close, but you don't think much of it. You wrench the Dersite from Hearts' grasp and throw him on the ground, trying to make sure he never wakes up, until Clubs has had enough of the blood leaking from the corner of the Dersites mouth and tries to shove you off of him. 

"That's enough!" Hearts lifts you up by the collar, and you stop thrashing after a minute of blind rage. He lets you down, and goes back to the freezer to retrieve the cold compress. Droog makes his way over the knocked out Dersite to your side, lighting up a cigarette and kissing your forehead quickly, an awkward thanks. Hearts throws him a cold pack, which he catches holds to his head wound, wincing. You kick the fallen Dersite in the ribs, at the same time that Clubs runs around the kitchen to Hearts' side. 

"Hearts, are you okay?" Hearts smiles down at him, and pats him on the head. 

"Don't worry , nothin' a little rest can't fix." Hearts turns to you and Droog, speaking while rubbing his side gently. "That Dersite's got some tough knuckles." You sneer down at the painful yet weirdly serene expression on the shithead's face and you kick him again, you should have realized if someone constantly hung out with the Felt he woudn't be a complete pushover. You start picking up the wood from the bread board all over the kitchen, and Clubs hustles over to drag the unconcious jackass and his broken glasses down to the basement and Hearts follows him with a coil of rope. You dump the wood in the trash and gesture for DD to sit down on the couch in the other room. 

You sit next to him and cross your arms. "Lean the fuck over Droog let me look at your fucking bump." He removes the the cold compress and leans over, and you gently run your fingers over the bruised carapace, feeling frustration that Droog was the one injured instead of you. You quickly plant a kiss to the bruise and embarassedly tug your hat down over your eye. "Why'd you have ta get yourself wanged in the head Diamonds, I hate it-" 

"When I get hurt, I know." Droog calmly leans over to you and pulls you into a kiss before lingering by your cheek. "If I didn't know you better I'd think you've gone soft." You grumble under your breath and shove yourself closer to him, and he drapes an arm over your shoulder. You sit in silence, just enjoying the prescence of your tallest matesprit, internally wishing Sleuth was here too. You let yourself relax into his side, and you can glance up to see his usually blank face, curl into a small grin. Fuck, he's cute. You bury your flushed face in his side, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. You mutter under your breath just quiet enough for him not to make out the words. 

"Flushed for you, ya arrogant fuck."


	3. Chapter 3

Be "That" Dersite. Your mind is full of fog, and a sore feeling is bogging down your head. Your eyes flicker open, but one of them isn't opening all the way. You blink hard and wince. Definite swelling. The room your in is dark, with a cliche single hanging light above you that flickers every few seconds. You notice your knuckles hurt, and that your tied to a fucking chair. You remember what happened earlier. You remember that tough eyepatch-wearing fuckass beating the shit out of your face, and you remember punching Hearts Boxcars in the side, no wonder your hand hurts, he's built like a brick wall. You tug at the ropes, and notice your ankles are also tied to the legs of the chair. You have ropes incircling your torso, and wiggle your shoulders in an attempt to remove them. You remember your teeth and lean down to try and snag the ropes with your mouth, when a door opens and you jolt upright. 

"Hey, which of you violent bastards is it now?" The one with the eyepatch slowly emerges from the shadows, grinning a full, viciously sharp grin and brandishing a metal bat. "Oh, not you again." You flinch at the sight of the bat, anticipating the blow that would eventually occur. He asks you with venom in his voice, 

"We have a few questions, and I don't care how I get the answers I need. The usual first things first, what's your name, pronouns, and occupation." You think thats an easy thing to start with, and you have no compromization with telling him. 

"My name is Ardent Horticulturist, I use he him or they them pronouns, and I'm a library and bookstore owner, barista, and decorative gardener. What about you, eyepatch?" The mobster sneers at you, and you stare at him unblinkingly. "I don't know who you are, speak up." The mobster swings the bat, barely missing your leg, and you flinch hard. 

"Spades Slick, leader of the infamous Midnight Crew." The name is familiar to you, you've heard about the Midnight Crew before. Nevery anything good... You tug at your ropes subtly. 

"Fine, Spades Slick, how about you let me go so we can forget about this, set me loose and I won't say a word. It'll be like it never happened." You chuckle, wanting to get one last lick in. "Except for the lump I left on the tall one's head." Spades growls. Looks like that touched more of a nerve than you thought it would. You'd felt hints of a matespritship or at least a very close moiraillegance between the one you bashed with a frying pan, but saying that might actually get him killed. You gulp. He notices, and bares his violently sharp teeth, and the bat blurs towards you. You feel a severe stinging from a blunt collision against your shin, and you cuss loudly, sure that the whole building could hear you. Your mind clogs with pain. You bite down hard, groaning as the dull assault on your fucking shin snakes down your leg and up your knee. 

"Fucking fiddlesticks stop that!" the mobster grins at your obvious pain. Nothing pitch about this bastard, he wants you dead. For good. You wince when he raises the bat again. "Stop, stop you fraudulent nincompoop, can you at least ask me a fucking question before beating the shit out of me?" Spades taps you threateningly with the bat on the knee. 

"You need to fucking chill before your big mouth gets you another bruised shin." You grit your teeth as he taps on your newly sore wound. 

"If you cracked my fucking carapa-" The mobster suddenly yanks on the back of the chair, dragging you on an off angle. 

"Keep talking and it won't be the last." You turn your head to the side, leaning back hard. Too close. He shoves you back, and the chair immediately plummets, you feel pain shoot up your arms and wrists and you curse loud enough to shatter the light fixtures. "Are wE CLEAR?!" You wince sharply, staring up at the mobster breathing heavily, fingers clenched and practically foaming at the mouth. You decide to concede for now. You can't tell these shitheads what they want, but you'd rather not get killed. 

"Yeah, we're clear bossy britches." He growled, and slid over on his knees, snapping a back leg of the chair. 

"It doesn't matter, because you aren't getting up for the rest of your stay till you fucking talk." He stormed out of the room, leaving you on your back with your legs in the air, unable to push yourself onto your feet. You feel the best way to pass the time would be to sleep. You shift your weight, trying to get comfortable. its nearly impossible, considering your tied to the fucking chair, but you manage to roll onto your left side, and it could be better, but you can probably sleep. You glance around the room into what little of the darkness you can see, looking for any places that might bear some dirt. You can feel the earth beneath you, but there's concrete all around you. You focus your energy on the earth, but you can't force anything through the solid build of the basement. Sound proof too, nice touch. Your familiar is still alone at your house, but you're confident that she can take care of herself. Typical for a cat. You sigh, cheek against the ground, waiting for your body heat to finally warm the heartless stone. You already miss the warmth of your own home, walking around on silent sock feet and watching your familiar's sleep while you make hot chocolate. You'd probably even have a friend or two over... if you had any that weren't busy doing more important things. You sigh, feeling an uncomfortable doze begin to cloud your mind. Your eye pangs you painfully, but you ignore it as best you can, shin still throbbing. You close your eyes at last, leaving your pitiful entrapment behind.


	4. Chapter 4

Be Ardent Horticulturist again. A voice swims through your consciousness. It gets louder, but you're so tired, come back lat- You feel a hard smack rattle your teeth and your face jerks to the side. You curse loudly and open your eyes, struggling to defend yourself but you're still tied to that god forsaken chair. Eyepatch is back. You growl under your breath, gritting your teeth and feeling their sharp points scrape against each other. 

"Are you fucking kidding? I was asleep, do you know how hard it was to fall asleep sitting on my elbow?" 

"Maybe you wouldn't have had to if you had aNSWERED MY FUCKING QUESTI-" 

"YOU DIDN'T ASK ME A FUCKING QUESTION YOU JUST BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ME!" 

"SHUT UP STOP INTERRUPTING M-" 

"NO!" "I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP-" 

"MAKE ME!" Your voice is hoarse, and you and Slick are screaming at one another in a violent fervor. He growls in frustration, marching angrily around the room, punching a wall with a hand that glints of metal. A prosthetic? He was obviously frustrated that he needed you alive. You understood that, but at least if he did kill you, it would be you and not an innocent person that he ripped to shreds. He can't seem to calm himself, and he rages back over, winding up with a different arm this time. The metal one. His fist connects with your chest, just missing your lower ribs and you gasp out, completely winded. All of your sense go on the fritz, you stomach a gag reflex, stars bursting behind your eyelids and focus on trying to breathe. You can't breathe- Your lungs finally expand, battered but still working. You could swear your heart skipped a beat. Your eyesight returns, and you wince at the movement of your chest. You stare up at that dark grimace glinting of sharp teeth and venom. He growls at you through gritted teeth, and a chill of fear dances over your spine. You notice your ass is asleep as he says, 

"Are you ready to fucking LISTEN for ONCE you stubborn SHIT?" You blink. 

"D-Damn fuckin' chill, I'm listening." You roll your stomach quickly, wincing as you find a crevice wedged into an abdominal plate. GREAT, JUST WHAT YOU FUCKING NEEDED. You gulp down your incendiary exclamations, and groan. "Ask me a question, you cracked my fucking stomach open." The ringing sensation hasn't yet worn off, and a sore tightness reminds you of how that fucking hurt. 

"What do you know about the agregious Felt?" You grit your teeth.

"Who's the Felt? I don't recognize the name, what do they look like?" Spades growls.

"I KNOW you know who they are, we've seen you CONSTANTLY going in and out of the fucking Manor!" You realize these mobsters must have had a goddamn clue to how close you were with the Felt, but you are NOT telling him anything. You would never betray someone's trust. You brace for some for some sort of punishment, pull the most confused and innocent face you can manage, actually a pretty good one since you've had practice. 

"What are you talking about, I still don't know who The Felt is, is that their name? First or last?" The Dersite growls at you, raising his foot to threateningly plant it on your chest. 

"YOU KNOW IT ISN'T A FIRST OR LAST NAME, it's the name of a fucking GANG! IT'S FULL OF FUCKING GREEN LITTLE SHITS WHO LIKE CLOCKS!" You pull a worried face, and squirm in false discomfort. 

"H-Hey, let up a little will you? Besides, I didn't know anyone in Midnight City was green, I've only seen Prospitans and Dersites here!" Spades Slick lifts his foot and grinds the blunt heel of his shoe into his the place his pectoral plates jointed together. You grunt in pain. 

"YOU KNOW WHO THEY ARE! YOU CONSTANTLY VISIT FELT MANOR!" He stomps on your chest. "FUCKING SPILL!" You cough hard, your breath leaving you quickly. Wheezing, you mumble, 

"I don't you what you're fucking talking about, and even if I did know about The Felt, I wouldn't tell you anything." You stare into his eyes and you can see how badly he wants to stab you until you cover the floor with scarlet blood, but he needs you alive. He needs you alive and he hates it. He breathes hard, trying to calm himself down, and he yanks on your collar. 

"You are going to tell me what I need to know, or I'm going to tear off your carapace one plate at a time." You wince at the thought, but you grimace. 

"Then you'd better get started." You're terrified. You know how awful it hurts to lose a plate, but you'd rather die than betray the trust friends have given you. He growls and shoves up your sweater, digging his metal fingers into the joint just below your left ribs, and begins slowly tearing the smaller panel below your ribs off. Your flesh beneath the exoskeletal plate begins tearing off, stuck to the underside of the plate, you're writhing and grunting and you want him to stop you feel warmth dripping down your cold exposed flesh and you can tell you're bleeding. You scream when you feel the sudden stretching and tearing and heat as he tears it free, your vision blurs with tears and he's yelling at you to 

"TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!" and you hear a strange voice screaming "NEVE-"in an awful painful tone before it bleeds into animalistic panic and pain and fear and rage and you realize it's your voice and the ropes dig into your arms and legs and shoulders as you writhe and scream and cry out and he just stands their holding something black dripping in red and it's part of you and your blood is dripping down your carapace and staining your pants and you're blacking out and there's nothing but pain and darkness and oblivion and you're gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Be Ardent Horticulturist. You come to. That damned Slick isn't still here, and you feel your stomach throb with pain. The torn up flesh on your stomach is exposed to the air, and if you lift your head up so far forward it hurts you can see brick red and brown dried blood crusted to your flesh and carapace and you groan. It takes so long to regrow a missing plate, it was going to get all itchy, and just staring at the mess of blood made you nauseous. You stomach growls, and you realize you haven't eaten in god knows how long. You miss the sun. You miss your plants. You miss your own bed. Your foot's asleep. All your blood's rushing to your head from your legs being in the air. The light blinks out, but it's not coming back on and all you can think of was the sun and how it felt to just be out in the sun and you can remember what fresh air feels like going down and how fluid it is and its just full of movement and life but this air. 

This air in this basement full of cement and blood is stale and it smells like the blood you notice has crusted your pants and sweater, and its dark and heavy. Your plants wouldn't stand for this, this air is artifical and full of dust and anger, you don't know how long you've been down here. The only way you try to determine how long you were out this time, is that the blood that had poured from your torn flesh is crusted dry. You try to force your stomach to move as you grit your teeth. You can't stand not being able to move. You kind of need to take a shit too, but that's not the number you're worried about. The nauseous, hungry feeling in your gut tells you that it isn't going away any time soon. You hear small creaks and cracks as you crane your neck to stare at the door. You yell. 

"HEY!" It bounces off the walls, as you hear a slight echo. "HEY! WILL I BE ALLOWED TO GET UP TO PISS?" No response. You assume no one's listening, whatever time it is they probably have better things to do and you understand that, but you need to fucking self care, so you keep yelling. "HELLO? IS ANYONE LISTENING? I'M SORTA HUNGRY AND I NEED TO PISS!" You sit there unhappily, making yourself more and more uncomfortable as you fixedly try not to think about anything liquid or water, but you can totally hold it. You proceed to spend the next who know's how long screaming yourself hoarse. You can feel your throat ache, that odd awareness of the raw roughness that's become of your throat. You stare up at the ceiling, pondering if there's a way you could have avoided this. Thinking about how this could have been one of the Felt instead of you, and you feel that made this experience just a bit more tolerable. 

You decide to give it one more go, but as you raise you voice with an awful grate to it, you hear a click and just over the rim of the chair you can see the door swinging open. You cut yourself off quickly, but you aren't greeted with a snarling mouth and eyepatch, you aren't greeted with a sight at all. You listen quietly as you can hear small footsteps across the room, but you can see anyone approaching you. The footsteps stop and you crane your neck, catching the sight of a black hat much lower to the ground. A small face peers around the chair bottom, large white eyes blinking at you. It makes you uneasy, but his smaller stature reassures you he can't be much of a handful. 

"Uh, hey there." You hear a higher voice in a solemn but pleasant tone. 

"Hi." You wriggle in your bindings, wincing when your stomach aches. 

"Hey, uh, Mr um-" The small dersite quickly replies, 

"Clubs Deuce." You nod. 

"Excuse me Clubs Deuce, what does that Slick fella think I'm supposed to do for food or if I have to use the facilities? My left foot's asleep and I haven't had anything to eat since I got tied up down here, besides I kinda have to piss." Clubs Deuces prods your left foot, and you yelp as pins and needles shoot up your leg. "Watch it!" He apologizes, suprisingly. He eyes your stomach wound with wide eyes. 

"Oh man, was that Slick?" 

"Yeah." You can hear the rueful tone in your voice, your strong platonic hatred for the eyepatch bearing mobster. Shithead. You look back at the shortest mobster you've seen in the Midnight Crew. He was about the same height as Clover, actually. He seemed to be undergoing an internal turmoil all his own. 

"How badly do you have to go?" You shrug, trying not to make it something he could use against you. 

"I definitely wouldn't mind using the bathroom right now." He taps his pointer fingers together in an indecisive manner, rocking slightly on his heels. At that moment your stomach grumbles with emptiness, and you suck in a sharp breath at the zing of pain coming from your stomach wound, trying to see if it's begun bleeding again. The mobster looks sympathetic at the pained look that you must wear on your face. 

"Okay okay, I gotta idea." Clubs Deuce hurries around to your side and crosses his arms. "IF, I untie you and take you to use the bathroom, and get something to eat, you have to promise not to try and escape." You don't know why you would promise that, if all you have in store is more pain from that jackass with the metal arm. "...Or I'll burn down your library." In your minds eye all you can visualize is that beautiful buildding burning and books and their knowledge dissappearing into ash. You gulp. The look in Clubs Deuce's eyes is unnerving, and you can't help the sinking feeling in your stomach that he'd actually do it. 

"Fine, yes I promise. But don't burn down my library. Please." Clubs Deuce nods with finallity. He starts untying you, starting at the feet and you can't help wince at the ropes movements cause more sharp pains in your sleeping limb. When the ropes finally fall, he gently pushes you onto your side to get at the knots behind you. Lying on you arm hurt, but it was worth it when you hear that small voice say, 

"There." You cautiously push the chair away from you, and gritting your teeth you shove yourself to your feet. Ow. Your vision is filled with fog and static and your head aches and you hit the floor again. You can feel Clubs Deuce shaking your arm. "Hey! Hey are you okay!" Through the fog you groan, 

"Ugh, I stood up to fast- I'm fine it's fine just a second." You slowly push yourself into a sitting position, your vision clearing. The slight pain in your stomach from it's bending makes you wince, but you pull yourself to your feet and wobble on unused legs. "How long have I been in here?" Clubs gestures for your hand and as you lean down to let him grab it he says, 

"Two days I think, maybe just a day and a half?" You think that's about right. When he pushes the still open door wider and leads you through it and you see a flight of stairs leading up. Your assumption you were restrained in a basement was correct. Deuce heads upstairs before you, opening the door a crack and he peeks out. You assume he's looking for other members of the Midnight Crew, you know if Slick sees you not tied up and bleeding out he'd tear you limb from limb. He pushes the door open and drags you to the nearest bathroom. He lets you go by yourself and waits outside. 

You look at yourself in the mirror and you look awful. Your vision is slightly blurry, your glasses were shattered by Slick punching you in the eye and are probably somewhere in the garbage in shards. You stare at your sweater stained with a repulsive cherry and scarlet and brick brown mess, and tug it upwards. You stare at how wrong it looks to see your flesh exposed, and you just stand there and breathe. An anomolous, out of place scarlet brown patch compared to your smooth black carapace. You shiver, remember that look in Slick's eyes as he tears that plate off, the awful wet tearing sound you could hear between your own screams and his rage. The carapace on your wrists are scuffed from the ropes, and you detest how the blood crusted to your sweater feels to the touch. Your pants and belt are stained too, you hate ruining your own clothing, you need to put that shit through a washing machine. 

You quickly use the bathroom, getting as much out as you can so you can make these trips infrequent. You wash your hands, missing how water felt. You want to take a shower. You want to sit down in the shower under the hot water and clean up your wound, curl up and just wash away all the remnants of this. Knowing you, blood and new skin would slide down the drain too, while you scratch away at that awfully itchy scab until its a clean, bloody wound that can heal up proper looking. Like real flesh. You carefully drink a little from the tap, just enough to try to combat the raw awful feeling down your throat. You dry off your hands and open the door. 

Deuce turns around and asks if your done. When you nod, you start walking back to the basement. You could run, but your library's death would be worse for you than the interrogation could ever be. Deuce takes you back down the stairs and into that damned room. You stare at the chair still knocked over. You ask Deuce if you need to get back into the one that's knocked over and he says no, walking into the shadows and dragging over another wooden affair. You sit down ready to be tied up again, but you feel something shoved into your hands, covered in something crinkly. You look down and it's a few smaller candy bars, and three licorice ropes. You stare at Deuce apprehensively, and he quickly reassures you by practically devouring one of the licorice ropes. 

"You said you were hungry, so..." Your eyes widen and you smile at the shorter man. You don't care if he's one of the mobsters who's keeping you here, an act of kindess defines a lot about a man, and this one was pretty sweet. He does seem a bit... creepy, but that's easily forgettable while your biting into milk chocolate. When you finish eating, you let the last bite of chocolate rest on your tongue and let the flavor sink in. When you open your eyes you sit back in the chair, but before you put your arms in place for Deuce to bind, you pat him on the head through his hat. 

"Thanks." He smiles at you before starting to securely tying you to the chair. But you don't mind the snugness now, when you watch the short mobster leave with a slight hop in his step, who waves before closing the door. The Midnight Crew may not have learned anything from you, but they could learn a thing or too from Clubs Deuce.


	6. Chapter 6

Be Hearts Boxcars. You become Diamonds Droog, just like you asked. It's been over a day since you'd kidnapped the bookish Dersite, who you've recently come to refer to as Ardent Horticulturist, as you've been told by Spades. He hates him. Not in that manner at all, your Spades has nothing but a strong platonic hatred for him. You and Sleuth have had to calm him consistently as he's enraged constantly by the Dersite's annoying resilience to pain. After two sessions with the insatiable Slick he still hasn't given up any information other than his name, pronouns and occupation. You are unmistakably aware of the fact that Boxcars seems to have a strange connection with your prisoner. You haven't confronted him about it, as it hasn't seemed important enough to spend your time worrying about it. The only real thing that you'll do is make sure Boxcars isn't put in charge of interrogating the prisoner. 

You haven't personally interacted with the prisoner, but you've already developed an irritation with the fellow for his infuriating Spades. You adore him but he is easily angered. He's only recently gotten better, pleased with the fact he'd torn a plate from the prisoner. The barbarian actuallly keeps it in his bedroom, you've seen it a few times. But he's your barbarian, yours and Sleuth's. At the moment you three are out to eat, and sitting in a booth to Spade's right, and Sleuth on Spade's left. You feel a soft nudge beneath the table against your leg, and you look up from your plate. Problem is looking up from his own food and drink, watching for a reaction from you. You let the corner of your moth twitch upwards in a smirk aimed towards the Prospitan. He smiles in response. You nudge Problem's foot with your own, the both of you sandwiching Spades in the booth. Slick finishes his food first, eating more messily and more quickly than you and Problem. He orders another drink, and will most likely be the first or only one of you three to get somewhat plastered. You'd say only one, you aren't in the mood for a morning hangover, and Problem doesn't get sloshed as often as he used to before you three got together officially. 

"Spades, how much do you plan to drink?" Spades shrugs and takes the new drink the waitress hands him with shaking fingers. They are mobsters after all. He takes a large sip and pats your arm. 

"You know how I like my dinner." You roll you eyes, and Problem grins and speaks. 

"Drowned in alcohol. Although I can't see how that would improve your evenings or dinner, food is better when enjoyed." Problem sips his own drink, pairing it with a bite of the somewhat adorable choice of macaroni and cheese. He's always been the sweetest and indefinitely the most charismatic Prospitan you've ever encountered, and you cannot help adoring him. You push down the urge to lean across the table of the booth and kiss Problem tasting of booze and pasta. He'd blush so beautifully and kiss in return. Delicious as you know he always is. You watch Spades drink contently, leaning back on the booth. You see his hand lying on the table, curled and relaxed, and you slip your own hands around it, weaving your fingers with his and he startles momentarily. You lift his hand and press it to your lips gently, and his cheeks flush darker than they already were. 

"Can you just finish you social lubricant and we can go? I'm almost finished eating." Spades nods while grumbling and starts working on his drink as you spear the last of your steak with your fork. Problem watches you with loud appreciation of the way you handled the drunk Spades, and slides his own arm around Spades who presses a kiss to his cheek in return. You watch them with a particularily warm sensation in our chest that can be only described as old fashioned pity. In a new fashioned manner you'd say it was love. It doesn't matter, all you know is watching the Prospitan detective and the Dersite mobster casually holding hands all you can see are those too, brighter and more beautiful than anything you've seen. You avert your eyes. That's the power of "love", then. When you look in their directions the first thing you see are those two, they're all you want to see when you wake up. Sappy of you, isn't it, that these carapacians would hold so much power over you just by smiling, or touching your hand. 

It makes you feel vulnerable, but intimidating, because you trust the two of them and no one but them will hold that power over you, not in that same way. No one other than these two can take advantage of you, making you powerful, yet weak. If either of them were... hurt, you don't know what you'd do trying to cope. You gesture for the check when the waitress stops by with shaking hands, and she hurries off to retrieve it. Slick glances over at you with an empty drink in his hand. He sets it on the table and very offhandedly slid his hand over to you. You looked at him, seeing the familiar flushed and flustered expression when he wanted to do something soft and romantic without being the one to initiate it. He's never liked to admit he wants to hold hands, or cuddle, or do anything of the sort. The only way he's ever initiated something romantic when it was by suprise, an occasion you can remember when you were all out dancing once, and Spades requested a romantic song.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

You wouldn't expect to be able to request songs in a club, but you can always request a song if you bring a gun. Its a song you both know, and you looked around for him, and you see him pushing people out of the way so there's enough space for you to see him standing alone on the floor waiting for you, but you can already see him and while others may think that ruined the effect but you found it endearing to see him push others around, trying to make a perfect circle. His face was flushed reddish and he was so anxious to have everything perfect, that just by watching him you could feel yourself pushing down a blush and you walked towards him. 

He sees you and spins around, fixing his hat and you are ridiculously suprised when you noticed he threw on a tie in an slapdash way, and you don't know if you want to immediately straighten it, or smile at how very Spades Slick it looks. He looks away from you, staring fixedly at nowhere, but you can still see his face is tinted crimson as he reaches out to offer you a hand. You take it, and have to take a few steps when he pulls you closer until he has your hand in his and his other on your waist. You're suprised, because this is usually associated with waltzing, and then he begins to move slowly, you looking down at your feet, staring as he begins a remarkably skilled boxstep, and he sweeps you away and all you can do is stare at him as he takes on such a determined quality, eyes sparkling with unsaid things and you can feel your own expression is uncharactaristically blank, cigarette balanced between your teeth with wide eyes, your mouth open slightly because you have nothing to say. 

You just let him lead, and you move and spin and he spins you outward and for once your mind is in one place, in the hand grasping yours, in the movement spinning you and in your outstretched arm. When he whirls you back, you find the momentum is forcing you off balance before he catches you in a dip and the lights above you are shining, and through the starry glare you can see him smiling. His mouth is curled in a soft smirk, and you're3 shocked and clinging to the upper arms of his suit jacket and his arms around you are the only thing keeping you from falling, you wonder how Spades, a man shorter than you is managing to hold you up in such a flawless dip, and how much patience he would have needed to learn to waltz, then you feel him leaning down and he's kissing you. The effect the dance has had on you is obvious as he takes the lead and you're seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on him tightens and your heads tilt and teeth clack. 

When you stand up, the dazed one for once, he's grinning at you and you can taste him in your mouth, and he tastes like licorice but you find it familiar and when you realize your cigarette is gone you look up and the cigarette is wedged between his teeth and you can't help smiling. You feel your mouth curling into a real grin, no sharp twitch of the mouth, no momentary smirk but you are reeling, and you slip your arms around his waist, caught up in the moment and he wraps his arms around your neck and you kiss again. You feel him speaking, the vibrations of his words in your mouth too, and you barely catch the words. 

"I love you." And you have nothing to say. But you kiss him, and you just stand there, his feet not touching the ground playing tug of war with a cigarette and you know he knows. You see it when you stop to breathe, staring in each others eyes with his forehead against yours and he smirks back at you, his blush gracing his neck. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Back in the present, you take the offered hand and squeeze it. You look at each other, before the waitress interrupts you with a shaking voice, leaving the check on the table. All three of you release one another to contribute to the check, Problem somehow paying less than either of you by kissing you both for a moment, with those soft eyes. You hail a taxi, and you slide into the taxi followed by Problem, and you and Spades kiss him on the cheek and his porcelain Prospit cheekbones flush a blotchy attractive pink. You all spend the ride to Problem's holding hands, and exchanging small kisses, you pepper Problem's face with attention, as the Midnight City around you comes to life as Midnight finally approaches, the lights flashing by, and when the taxi stops you step out. You go to pay, but the arm Problem slid around your waist squeezes you, and, and Spades who'd also reached for his wallet reacts to a similar attention grab. Your detective steps forward and winks, saying, 

"I've got this babes", with all the charisma he so easily can muster. He pays, and both you and Spades stare at one another, and you can feel that your own face must mimick Spades' light dust of scarlet across his face. Problem was... something, and both of you know it. When you get up to Problem's apartment, Spades resting his head on your shoulder during the elevator ride, Problem pulls out the pair of pajamas you and Spades have always left at his house. Spades throws his clothes down, and you immediately lean down and pick them up to fold them and leave them on Problem's dresser. Spades changes the fastest, rocketing into Problems half made bed wearing oversized red flannel pajama pants and a light grey t shirt that reads "ALL I CARE ABOUT IS COFFEE (and like, two people)". He came back to the headquarters one day with it, claiming to having only bought it to show you how silly these shirts are, but he bought more than one and keeps them anywhere he sleeps. 

As you take your time pulling on your pajamas, a basic white t-shirt and similarly oversized pajama pants, black patterned with red diamonds, Problem speaks. 

"Spades, your eyepatch." You watch as he leans down and tosses the eyepatch on the side table, pressing a kiss to the scar tracing down Spades' eye. He wears a dark grey oversized sweatshirt bearing "I HATE BEING SEXY, BUT SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT", and light grey pajama pants with green question marks. You watch him grin lopsidedly when Spades flushes, and you agree with his sweatshirt. Wholeheartedly. You jolt yourself back to reality when you hear Spades telling you to get your ass over here, voice stretching with a yawn. You consider yourself appearing undignified as Spades is gesturing for you to settle between himself and Problem, so you're forced to climb across the bed to slide yourself under the covers between them. Your... boyfriends. ..You enjoy calling them that, at least to yourself, sidle closer to you, and Problem reaches out to turn off the lamp on the side table. 

You let yourself relax, the warmth of your partners dozing off by your side is so familiar and comforting. For a moment you find yourself remembering a time before Midnight City, when all you had was your companions against you, and the breathing you can hear from the other two is so familiar, a time you'd nearly forgotten. You here Problem say goodnight to Spades, saying I love you. Spades says goodnight and mumbles another reply. You speak, realizing how tired you are. When was the last time you got over eight hours of sleep... 

"Goodnight Spades. Goodnight Problem." You hear Problem's reply, 

"Goodnight Diamonds... I love you." You feel the phrase settling on your tongue, but it catches in your throat, you turn your head to press a kiss to Problems forehead, who sinks in beside you and nuzzles into your chest. You slide an arm up and he welcomes it, resting his head in the dip between your shoulder and your pectoral plates, making a small contented noise in his throat. Spades mumbles something you can't understand and pulls your arm up to snuggle closer, and he leans up to kiss you and you grin softly at the flushed and sleepy expression on his face. As your... boyfriends doze off, you listen to their breathing. You look out the small window, at the stars scattered across the sky, just visible above the building next door. You can hear the slowing of their breathing, Spades slipping away first as you can feel his cold feet brushing against your ankle, but you put up with it to let him sleep. You can feel those little words bouncing around in your mouth, awkward and new. You open your mouth just a pinch, and close it. But you open it again, and before you finally feel the weight of sleep slide over you, you speak. 

"...I love you too."


	7. Chapter 7

Be Ardent Horticulturist. You become Hearts Boxcars. You're sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee with the intensity of a six year old. It was late. Droog and Slick had already left for the night, not coming back until tomorrow. You didn't know exactly what time it was, you weren't near a clock and you forgot your watch in your room. You could see your reflection in your coffee, and you sip it reluctantly. You don't want to be up all night, but you can't bring yourself to leave a perfectly warm cup of coffee to waste. You keep daydreaming, and it was so late- meaning early- it probably was daydreaming. 

The look on AH's face when he called out to you, after assaulting you in a violent, panicked outburst. You'd pinned his arms behind his back, and he'd struggled, glaring at you with white eyes filled with terror and betrayal. You couldn't let him go, he was a kidnapee. But... you still felt guilty. You sigh around the coffee mug. Clubs was probably asleep already, so he was the only one up. Unless Ardent.. no. He wasn't allowed to go "hang out" with someone the Crew was holding prisoner. But it couldn't hurt. From what he knew about him, he preferred to stay up late. You feel a pang of guilt. He hasn't seen the sun in at least a few days. From what you've heard from him, that's horribly unhealthy for an organic based enchanter. You try to ignore the guilty feeling in your stomach. You can't go help him, and yes, it sucked. But you also can't leave him alone in good conscience. 

A twitch of amusement pulls at the corner of your mouth. What concience. You didn't consider yourself a good person, you didn't lie to yourself like some would. But, would it actually be okay if you went to talk to him? If Slick never found out, you probably could go talk to him at the very least. You haul yourself out of your chair, and set off for the basement. You think to yourself, and recall that Droog might have noticed that AH knew your name- who are you kidding, he's so fucking observant if course he would. There's a reason you haven't been down to torture the poor fella, Droog must know you would try not to hurt him for as long as you could, so he wouldn't waste time with trying to get you to injure AH. 

You made your way down the basement stairs, feeling them creak under your weight. You opened the door, to see AH tied back in his chair, resting, with his sweater stained with dry blood. Oh damn.. What did Slick do to you Cult? You move forward, hands raised in concern. You gently push the stale bloody fabric up, revealing Cult's chest, and a scarily large mass of congealed blood, flesh, and scraps of carapace. Slick tore out one of his fucking plates?! How had he not given in, that shit fucking hurts.. Should you wake him up? You don't know if that's wise. You let his sweater fall back, and walk to the far wall, and sit down, sipping your coffee and watching him, arm resting on your lap, legs crossed. 

"..Boxcars." You startle, and see Cult's head titled to the side, eyes barely open. 

" Cult?" AH's face registered your prescence, features crinkling slightly in disgust. 

"You know I won't talk, Boxcars. I-I've never spilled to anyone. B-But.." His eyes were glistening. "Eyepatch is fucking crazy, I have to get out of here Boxcars you have-have to help me he's going to te-tear me apart." You stare away, feeling guilt building up as a problematic lump in your throat and a tightness in your stomach. 

"You know I can't do that Cult. Slick will have my head on a platter." You focus on his face, noticing the paleness of his face, dark rings beneath his eyes, eyes tinted a grey yellow. 

"I need- need sunlight Boxcars I'm going to-to fucking. fucking lose it in here, I'm not worth interrogating if I lose my fuck-fucking marbles." You look up at him, teeth gritted. 

"I want to help but I can't, I can't I can't help or I'll get in so much trouble you have to understand Cult I'm in a terrible position relative to you." Cult's eyes filled with desperation, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

"I can't stay here I'm going to fucking rot down here Boxcars don't let me deteriorate here, let me out or kill me, I don't want to suffer like a bitch." You stand up, fists clenched in conflicting feelings of guilt and pity, duty to the Crew. You walk towards him, the salty fluid clouding his eyes staining his sweater. You reach a cautious hand out, and put it on his shoulder. Cult looked up at you, brimming with questioning acceptance of his fate. You slide your hand subconciously to touch his cheek, and he flinches before slowly leaning into your touch. "Don't leave me here to die." Your chest constricts with upset, and you push away one of his tears, smudging it across his cheekbone. 

"I'm sorry, I can't I can't I'm not allowed fucking hell I wish I could help you." Your mouth tightens into a thin line. "I'm sorry Cult." He looks up at you, eyes filled with slight betrayal. "Don't.." You remove your hand and turn, walking back to the door with guilt gripping you tight. Cult's voice choked out with tears. 

"Hearts-" You don't turn, you just leave immediately, going upstairs to try and sleep off your horrendous feelings of guilt. You can hear muffled cries of sadness and desperation. Don't look back.


	8. Chapter 8

Be Diamonds Droog. You become Spades Slick. It's the next day, you and Droog have returned to headquarters. Droog is sipping coffee at the table, nursing a cigarette. 

"Are you going to go interrogate our stubborn guest again today?" You snarl to yourself. 

"I don't know how he hasn't cracked yet, I tore out one of his fucking plates." Droog winced subconsciously. 

"That shit hurts, he has more constitution than I gave him credit for. Are you sure you aren't going overboard, with the tearing off plates?" You snort. 

"No way. Either way he deserves it." Droog shakes his head around his mug. 

"You should go plan your approach.. or just burst in and injure the already pained Dersite." You grin. 

"Fine, I'll get a move on." You stomp down the basement stairs, a little enthusiastic to inflict more pain on the insufferable big-mouthed prick. You open the door as loudly as you can, but freeze as you see the Dersite upright in a chair, the back leg you'd torn off still on the ground. Did he go get another chair? He's sleeping, and you walk towards him careful to be quiet. 

"WAKE UP YOU LITTLE BITCH-" You yell in his ear, slapping him in the cheek. It clearly stings, as he reels back and his chair hits the floor as he cries out. 

"Fuck-Fuck what the fuck- Get away from me you walking trash can!" AH is squirming in his bonds, trying to propel himself across the floor away from you. You walk towards him and step hard on his elbow, teeth bared in a bone-chilling grin. 

"You can't run, stubborn little shit. I see you're still alive after our last encounter." You grind your foot into his arm, hearing him yelp with pain. "I kept your plate as a trophy, how badly does your wound still look?" You throw him onto his back, hearing him whimper, and yanking his sweater up to see the mass of congealed flesh and dead cells and mess. You whistle in appreciation of your handiwork. "That's looking nice and terribly painful, excellent." You grin sadistically, digging your fingertips into his stomach wound, feeling the warmth of his blood poolnig around your fingertips. 

"Fuck fuck FUCK, St-STOP IT STOP SSTOP-" When you pause to examine his face, you realize he's looking gaunt and sick, eyes tinged grey yellow and face looking unusually sallow for him being covered in hard carapace. 

"Jesus, you look terrible, have we been feeding you?" He glares at you, tears spilling from his eyes. 

"You dumb bastard, you're keeping an organic based son of a bitch in a basement with no access to sunlight or earth. I'm already rotting, I'm only seventy-five percent sure you're actually here, dickwad." You growl at his insults, and kick him, AH skidding across the floor, his cheek squished into the ground and getting grazed painfully. 

"Fuck you-" 

"Shut up." You grab a metal pipe lying on the ground in the corner of the room, and prod him in the stomach. He growls, gritting his teeth in pain. "I'm real as ever, you on the other hand, are dancing with death if you don't start talking." The freshly bleeding prisoner coughed up dark thick fluid onto the basement concrete. The brick red color and unusual smell put you off by a large distance. "What the fuck is wrong with you, its only been three days." He coughs again, staring up at you with thick maroon liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

"Can't I just get something to drink you shitthole- khhhhack-" You growled. 

"Talk and I'll let you drink something." His voice was rough and hoarse, sounding like he was talking through sandpaper. 

"What do you want to know?" You step on his ankle and poke the exposed side of his face. 

"Where do the Felt go, when they aren't at Felt Manor, and we can use addresses, or names of buildings, speak up." He groans. 

"Stop stepping on me the rope is tight enough already. And I've already told you, I don't know who the Fe-" You crack down on his arm with the pipe, hearing him scream in a hoarse pained tone, more tears leaking down his face and onto the concrete. 

"SHUT UP, WE KNOW YOU'VE BEEN IN CONTACT WITH THEM, STOP LYING!" He whimpers as he sees you brandish the pipe again. 

"Stop hitting me." His voice is small and pitifully hoarse. He's shutting down, trying to curl in on himself for protection but it isn't working, and he's shaking. 

"Where do the Felt go? TELL ME." You swing the pipe and smash it into the ground right by his head. He cried out with fear. 

"St-Stop god stop stop hitting me stop stop stop stop stop stop god-" He's crying, shaking and staring away from you with blurred vision. You feel a twinge of concience hold you back. Your voice softens, but only a little. 

"Just tell me and I'll leave you alone, I'll get you something to eat, help you with your injuries. All you have to do is tell me where the Felt go when they aren't at the mansion." AH shakes his head as fervently as he can. 

"I don't want to betray the trust of people who haven't hurt me, or kidnapped me, or torn me apart, just because I'll be hurt. You-You just have to know that if I don't get enough sunlight or water I will, stop making sense. It's happened before, I've gone four days without sun before, an-and i was almost feral b-by the time it-it was over." You kick the back of his chair. 

"It won't happen if you cough up some information." AH bit his bottom lip so hard it bled and he made a small noise of pain in his throat. 

"F-Fine okay j-just a little can't hurt because they're always moving around anyways, you'll probably find out eventually any-anyway god I'm so sorry guys I'm sorry-" He's ducking his head, resting his forehead on the concrete as blood dripped from the grazes on his cheek leaking onto the ground. 

"O-Okay th-there's a sort of bar or-or casino place in the City, Gold Thread, an-and they're ghost-managing it, they have control over the managers and they profit from it- but otherwise I don't know anything about it except that it's getting more popular pl-please don't hurt me again please please-" You haul his chair back up into sitting position. 

"Finally, I have to give it to you." You're somewhat relieved, you're easily provoked by stubborn fucks, and lean down, pulling your switchblade from your pocket and using it to work out the knot's in his binding. "It's much nicer to be in our custody when you cooperate, and not be such a stubborn jackass." AH is crying silently, hands shaking as he regains control over his limbs. You leave him on the ground, unbound, with the metal pipe and switchblade in hand. "You stay here, for being a good prisoner and finally telling me something USEFUL-" Your voice hardens moment, and he flinches. "I'm going to get you some water, something to eat, and we're going to make you a little more comfortable, okay?" AH nods, staring at his feet. "I'll be back. Don't do anything stupid." 

You leave the room, securing the door behind you. You're getting better at being nicer to hostages, making them more comfortable after they spill. It reinforces that coughing up information leads to rewards. You come up the stairs noisily, and Droog turns to look at you in his chair, done with his coffee. 

"Alright, anything this time?" You smile. 

"After a bit of.. persuasion, and then some actual persuasion, he spilled on something. Gold Thread is apparently a sort of entertainment center in the City somewhere, and the Felt are ghost-running it." Droog nodded. 

"Sounds plausible. Getting him something?" You nod. 

"Mmhm." You go to the fridge and pull out a water bottle and a sandwich you'd made yesterday in preparation for an actual confession. You return to the basement and see AH lying on his side, shaking as a pool of blood slowly grows. You feel a twinge of panic. "What the fuck are you doing?" You remember to close the door behind you, and kneel at his side. His sweater was yanked up around his chest level, and there were shreds of skin, flesh, and congealed blood dripping from the wound. His hands were coated in blood, shaking. 

"I-I hate how it healed so-so messy does-doesn't feel good it itch-itches nasty shit." You pull him up into sitting position, holding his shoulders. 

"Okay dumbass that was a bad idea, bad idea. We have to clean you up before you infect this and die on our watch. We need you to stay alive, come on." You gently slide him onto his back, and pull of the blood crusted sweater. you leave it on the concrete as you help him up, his arm wrapped around his stomach, still scratching at the scab. You yell up the stairs. "Droog the dumb fuck's got himself fuck up, he tore open his wounds so I need you to watch that he doesn't run off while I take him to Boxcars for a patch-up job." AH's eyes flutter and he leans on you, taller but frail. 

"Boxcars.."


	9. Chapter 9

Be Hearts Boxcars. You become an injured Ardent Horticulturist. Your vision is blurred, everything dark with fuzzy vision. Are you still crying? Your cheeks are wet. You can barely feel anything, but you're moving, leaning on someone shorter than you. It's probably SS, the terrifying carapacian who was just hitting you with a pipe, blood red eyes and long claws digging into your flesh. 

You look around, and catch sight of the tall one, eyes full of destruction energy, too long arms and maljointed limbs. You can't tell if you're hallucinating, but you can feel warmth and pain seeping out of your stomach. SS is taking you down a hallway, knocking on a door. The reply is rough and low, but familiar. 

When the door opens, a mammoth carapacian, probably Boxcars, is in the doorway. They talk for a moment and you close your eyes. You become aware of your surroundings again when you feel yourself being manhandled onto a table. You blink, everything grey and spotty with dark reds and ugly yellows. Your voice sounds garbled, but you ask, 

"Boxcars i-is that yyou ya son of a b-bitch?" You hear the familiar rumbling voice make a sound of assent, and your eyes are definitely overflowing with tears. You're cold, when did someone take your sweater? You're sure you're hallucinating, as the large figure leaning into your line of sight has gaping red eyes, dripping blood onto you that you can't even feel, and a mouth full of jagged teeth. 

You can make out a few words as gentle hands run over your stomach, sliding something cool and wet over the wound. You whimper at the zing of pain up your spine, and the cold difference between your skin and the soft thing. You're shushed, something that feels like a tissue wiping off your face. You mumble to yourself, as the urge to tear into your stomach increases. 

"I-Itches so badly m'gonna die a-aren't I.." You hear a reassuring voice you can't understand from the terrifying thing above you. You close your eyes, feeling the tears sliding from your eyes and down the sides of your face, and you want to wipe them away. The gentle fingertips smooth the cloth over your skin, causing twinges of pain, and pushing the blood pooled in the wound out of the way. It's not very bright here. There are no windows you can see. You want sunlight so badly, need to feel it energizing you, need to see flowers and plants. Need food. 

You feel a volatile burning sensation, and you scream. You can't recognize your own voice, sounding like someone stabbed an animal. You make out the words, 

"Lie back calm down", and something something "peroxide". The wound is burning, and it slowly fades, but the afterburn leaves you sobbing and breathing shaking breaths. Your fingertips are buried into the sides of the table you're on. A thick palm and fingers slides beneath your back, forcing your spine to arch while something smooth and soft is slid beneath you. It's being moved around you slowly, and your muddled mind thinks for a moment that its some kind of snake, before you realize it's a bandage. You feel clips pulling the bandages comfortably snug, and you lie still, breathing softly. 

The large hands lift you up, and turn you until you're sitting on the table and leaning against the wall. Something that crinkles is pushed against your hand, and you can hear plastic snapping. a small ring of something is pushed against your mouth, and you open, feeling a small stream of water sliding into your mouth. You swallow, feeling the cold assuage the raw cracked surface of your throat. It's cold, but you can feel microorganisms inside it, and healthy bacteria. 

You think about feeling better, and a small positive response pings through your thoughts. You're going to be okay. You lean forward, unstable and wobbly, and rest your forehead on the chest of the assumed Boxcars. You feel like it would be smart to get some rest, but you're already feeling tired and bruised. You start slipping away, the disgusting world of dull greys and tainted greens and yellows sliding farther into blurred territory. You move your hands up to your shoulders, and touch the fabric of Boxcars' jacket, or shirt, or whatever. You feel your mind twitch, and you faint into darkness, heart beating in your ears as the world slips away into welcomingly blissful darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Become a healing, tired Ardent Horticulturist. You become Diamonds Droog. You watch Boxcars helping the bleeding prisoner, hearing their exchange. You can see the faint cloudy yellow in his eyes, talking about his imminent death. His wound isn't too bad, although it resulted in more blood loss and less irreprable tissue damage. You lean on the doorframe, cigarette held between your fingertips delicately. The nicotine in your system calms you, watching the blood slowly vanish from sight, being replaced with gentle bandages. 

When AH was bandaged and had drunk more than half a water bottle, he leaned on Boxcars' chest, touching his jacket before slumping against Boxcars into a peaceful looking slumber. You need to finally confront Boxcars on his relationship with AH. You didn't want anything to get in the way of how this was supposed to happen, a lot of ransom money, information, raids and transactions were still ahead, and some kind of possible friendship, isn't going to ruin your and Spades' well laid plans. Boxcars leaned AH into a sitting position again, and ran a hand over the bandages. 

"Okay, there we go." He stepped back, moving him onto the ground, hands on AH's sides. You blow a puff of smoke at the unconcious tall skinny bitch, and watch him choke and cough in his sleep. Boxcars stares at you unhappily. "Don't fuck with him, he's getting better now, don't give him lung cancer." You roll pale flinty eyes, as Boxcars picks up the frail and injured man. "Slick?" Slick responds with a "What?" coming from the kitchen. "I patched up the hostage, he's asleep. Did he spill anything?" Slick comes aroudn the corner and pauses by your side, focused on Boxcars. 

"Yeah, finally got something out of the stubborn jackass. We're taking him back down to the basement, but we're going to leave him there with a bit more comfort, not much, but he did tell us something we wanted to know." Boxcars nodded, seeming happy with the verdict. 

"Should be get him another shirt, or put him back in his bloody stiff affair?" Slick shrugs. 

"Droog's clothes would fit him best, but I-" You blow smoke into his face and he coughs, grinning evilly, finishing his sentence. "But I doubt he'd let us borrow anything to use for this guy." He's right. You can still feel the ghost of pain on part of your skull from where the collickly bastard brained you with the frying pan. You stare at the ground, dragging on your cigarette. You feel Slick poking you in the side. "Droogy still seems a bit salty over his head wound." You glare at him, feeling mocked for your slight grudge. 

"Fuck off Slick." Slick grins like a cocky bastard, and shrugs, resting a foot behind him on the toe as he leans on the other doorframe, hand in pocket. "If you want to offer up something, I have no complaints, although the stubborn hardy fella is about one third your size." Boxcars shrugs, and Slick walks past you into the room to hold up AH by the shoulders while Boxcars fishes through one on his drawers and pulls out a flannel shirt. Slick chuckles under his breath, but hands AH back to Boxcars, who gently pulls the sleeves over his arms, and buttons up the front. It goes down to just above his knees, and the slack makes him look even more pathetic. Boxcars picks him up off his bed, and walks toward the doorway. You step out of the way, eyes boring into the back of Boxcars' skull as he walked by with the hostage, followed by Slick, carrying the equipment he'd already brought, the rest of the water bottle along with another along a sandwich. You could hear the makeshift linen closet open. Slick was bringing down a blanket. Talk about being coddled. 

You sigh. You'll confront Boxcars afterwards. Hopefully the Crew wasn't going soft, and wouldn't keep him too comfortable for long. Deuce runs out of the kitchen with a handful of chocolate bars, yelling after Boxcars. Even Clubs. You seemed to be on your own now. You might have to take matters into your own hands..


	11. Chapter 11

Be Hearts Boxcars. You become Ardent Horticulturist. Your mind is foggy, but you surface from a light sleep and are acutely aware of something clinging to your stomach, soft and snug. It feels like the bandages you can vaguely remember Hearts wrapping around you. There was something else that was soft, loose and lying softly against your limbs. A shirt? You open your eyes, feeling heavy relief as your surroundings are alive, and realistic. The dark shadows and spotty colors are nowhere to be seen, except in far away corners of your peripherals. You can hear a voice, and it's recognized in your mind as Deuce. 

"AH, are you awake?" He's whispering, sitting near your waist, legs crossed and watching you. "You mumble under your breath. 

"M'okay, how'r you doin' Deuce." Deuce smiles, rocking in place. "Oh, you are awake! Hearts, he's awake!" You hear a creak, and Boxcars hoists himself out of the chair you had once been tied to, walking over and leaning down on one knee to look you in the face. 

"You alright?" You grin weakly, voice still hoarse. 

"Thanks to you, Boxcars. Do you have anything to drink?" Boxcars grabs something from Deuce and hands it to you, and you open the bottle to swallow the rest of the water. You smile, and notice you have another something keeping you warm, a blanket. It's not the best kind, but you're still feeling comfortable. "I'm not feeling as bad as before, but not by too much. I'm not hallucinating though, which is good." Boxcars looked confused, but he didn't say anything. A familiar chocolate bar was shoved into his face, and Deuce was smiling. 

"Here you go! Slick also brought you a sandwich!" You blink and exhale slowly, smiling at Deuce. 

"Too much sugar isn't good for me, can I have the sandwich first?" Deuce hands you the sandwich, and as you eat it, Deuce talks about what's been going on, and how Slick isn't really all that bad. Boxcars warns you about Slick's violent tendencies, and Droog's very probably grudge. 

By the time you finish the sandwich, that's actually pretty good, Deuce is in your lap eating licorice ropes and he's helping you in a round of poker with Boxcars. You two aren't winning, but its still fun. It keeps your mind off of remembering how little sunlight you've seen. You aren't very good at poker, but you're enjoying yourself either way. Deuce is better than you, and keeps pushing chocolate bars in your face. You eat them, which rewards you with a geniune smile. He's snuggling into your chest, careful to avoid hurting your stomach. Boxcars is examining his cards with caution, when Slick walks in. Deuce and Boxcars bristle instantly, and you flinch. A few confusing minutes later, Slick's been dealt in, and he's broken three wooden chairs against a wall. This is a nice change of pace from Slick's familiar hatred. Droog doesn't join you, and you're sure he's still mad at you for hitting him with the frying pan. Boxcars sits down by your head, and you stare at him. 

"If I didn't have a vison remedy in my system, I wouldn't be able to see more than fuzzy blobs full of blurs and vague patterns." Boxcars nodded. 

"By the way, we found your glasses a while ago and I'm sorry they were broken." You shrugged. 

"It's fine. but I'll eventually need a new pair." A few minutes after that, Slick became frustrated by losing to Boxcars and left, so they all sat somewhat uncomfortably. Deuce bid you goodbye and left shortly after running out of licorice ropes. You and Boxcars sit near one another in weird uncomfortable silence. "This isn't permanent, is it." Boxcars hesitated, but shook his head in response. 

"It might be, but only if you give up more information." You shake your head sadly, biting into a chocolate bar. 

"I don't think I can do that. The only reason I said something today was that I was desperate." You sip your water bottle, musing over the possibilites in store for you. "I don't usually start hallucinating, but I was so badly deprived of organic neccesities that Slick was a hulking figure with eyes of blood, a maw dripping poison and claws the size of daggers. What would anyone else have done?" You slouch in on yourself and pull the blanket over your shoulders hands shaking a little. Boxcars' voice has a hint of respect in it when he speaks. 

"Lesser men would have begged for their lives." You look up and Hearts is watching you with guilty eyes. 

"Don't worry about it Boxcars. I understand." He stares at the ground, and you take another bite of chocolate. "It was nice of you to patch me up, but I don't expect any sacrifice from any of you. I can hold out on my own, I'll be okay, at least I hope so." Boxcars lifts himself off the chair and sits on the floor closer to you. 

"From any of us? Has someone else come down to see you?" You nod. 

"Deuce let me upstairs to use the bathroom and fed me a little, he's very kind for a pyromaniacal looking fella." Boxcars smiles to himself. 

"He's a right piece of work." You see something behind his eyes, a firing of neurons and you're please to see your abilities aren't as shat on as you thought. 

"You two flushed?" Boxcars startles a little. 

"W-Well, we are um, it's a little complicated, but we've both agreed that we're just going to see where things go." He seems embarassed, face a little pink. You smile ruefully. 

"You two look be good together." You sip more water. 

"How are you doing in quadrants lately? Other than being cozy with the little fella." Boxcars shrugs, staring at the ground. 

"Nothing that pitch, y'know I've never been the type. Although I do have a bit of a budding hatred for one of those Sleuth folks, Ace Dick." You laugh a little at his last name. 

"That's quite the name." Boxcars nods. 

"He lives up to it. He's pretty strong too, can take a real beating." You nod around your water. 

"Mm, you're lucky Boxcars." He looks up at you and can see the bit of jealously ghosting across your face. "Even just to have one quadrant filled." You sigh ruefully. "I haven't been close to anyone in a real way for.." You trail off sadly. "Years." Boxcars looks at you with pity in his eyes, and you feel a twing of annoyance, raising a hand to stop whatever he was about to say. "I'm fine, Boxcars. It's not a problem, and it isn't something I'm not used to. I'm not fit for relationships of any kind." You sip more water, staring into your lap. "I'm too unlucky." Boxcars looks into his lap as well, not sure of what to say at finding out you're a repressed freak. It wasn't as if you hadn't had flush crushes or anything, you just haven't been in a relationship that hasn't crashed and burned. And often, the only person burned was you. 

You did have a few casual relationships at the moment, sharing three charms with different members of the Felt, but none were troves. Just probably short lived casual. Besides, it wasn't as if getting laid was something you did, it was a trivial thing you didn't think about. You felt a weight on your knee, of Boxcars' familiar hand. He looked at you, and you detested the sympathy he was trying to silently tell you he felt. You didn't need or deserve it. 

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine." You drain the bottle and try to crush it, weak fingers only crinkling it a little. Weak. You look at Boxcars, and pull the collar of the shirt up to smell it a little. "Thank you for the shirt, Boxcars. I don't want to owe you anything, so don't do me any more favors." You cross your arms and stare off into the corners of the dim room. "Tomorrow, Slick will probably come back here and make me bleed and scream when I don't tell him anything. It's going to go back to normal, and you aren't going to visit me at night to make me feel better, when it just makes me feel pathetic for wanting to be saved from the pain I don't deserve to escape." 

"But-" 

"Leave, Hearts. Before I do something I'll regret." Boxcars gets up and goes to the door, looking at you with conflict in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry things are turning out like this, Ardent. One day I hope to have a drink with you again, sit in that little library and go back to normal. So hang in there." He closes the door behind him and you hear the heavy lock system moving into place. You drag the blanket around you, curling up on the concrete and feeling your throat gain a lump. 

"Dammit. You can't say anything. No matter what." Your eyes pool with tears and you're shaking, before you say, with the terrible shaky voice. "No m-matter what they do."


	12. Chapter 12

Be Clubs Deuce. You become Hearts Boxcars. You close the door behind you, feeling so sympathetic and wanting to help so badly, you consider you may be pale for Cult. As you consider your feelings you feel warmth in your cheeks. You wave it away quickly, heading up the stairs. You get to the top of the stairs, take a few steps before you have a sudden realization that you're being watched. You swivel and see Droog, leaning on the wall a few feet away from you. 

"Droog." You speak with hesitation, disguised by rough indifference. Droog blew a ring of smoke into the air. 

"Boxcars. I've been meaning to talk to you." You watch him, feeling his flint eyes bore into your skull without feeling, walking forward, to stand in front of you, arms crossed, cigarette impaled by his teeth. 

"What is it, Droog, it's pretty late and I'm tired." Droog stares up at you with flat eyes. 

"How do you know the hostage." You were anticipating this question, and wanted to get around it, to not answer. You don't want to answer. You don't know how to answer. 

"His library is in town, Droog. I've seen him around once or twice, we never spoke then, but you know I read. I've been to his building a few times, to buy or borrow a few articles of literature, but otherwise I don't have any other connections to him." Droog's face betrays no emotions, nodding slightly but returning to make eye contact with you. 

"Why are you lying to me, Boxcars?" You bristle slightly, face furrowing. 

"I'm not." You stare back at him, glancing down to watch Droog's crossed arms, looking for a possible clenched fist, any sign of emotion. Psychopath. He's intimidating for someone shorter than you. Nothing gives away his feelings, but you gauge a certain amount of tension between the two of you. You know how Droog holds a grudge against Cult, acting annoyingly petty for a full grown adult. At least Slick knew when to knock it off, the difference between professional and personal. It was Droog's fault for getting wanged in the head with a pan. He could have been more careful, besides, He had broken into Cult's house, and acted like there was no reason Cult would defend himself. 

That was a terrible thing to think about someone with a real mind. Cult wasn't some kind of animal, he was smart and loyal, being remarkably stubborn when necessary. He had respectable resolve, only caving under influence from heavy and very painful intimidation. The corner of Droog's mouth twitched into a slight scowl, growling under his breath. 

"Don't lie to me. It's never been wise for anyone, to lie to me." You know exactly what he's ensuing, and you bare your teeth slightly, reaching forward to prod Droog in the chest. He has to take a step back, as you step forward, towering over him and glaring, a finger in his face. 

"Try that shit on me and I'll snap your arms off at the elbows and eat them like you eat lobster out of its shell." Droog seems put off by his threat, lower eyelids twitching upwards slightly in disgust at the thought. 

"Barbarian." You shrug off the pitiful attempt to insult you. 

"Coming from a man who tortures people for fun until their mind crumbles like dead leaves beneath the heel of your shoe. Slick keeps you from participating in torture for express purpose of keeping you from turning prisoners into broken shells of men." Droog seems as unaffected as you by your insult as you were to his. You can see pinpricks of light, dark and greyish purple. You feel a quiet growl in the back of you throat rise. "Don't, you deranged maniac." You can feel his hands around your mind, sharp probing persuasions and dark thoughts being pushed around. You shake your head, raising a hand and poking Droog in the forehead hard. "Don't test me, Diamonds. You aren't getting anything out of me that way." He stumbled back, but you could still feel his presence. 

A particular part of you is pulled into focus, your eyesight dulling to dark tints, and Droog's form was tinted a faded brick red. You see the library, you moving among the shelves with interest. Cult leaning over the counter, asking a chipper question that rings through your mind. 

"What are you looking for?" You growl, and step forward, feeling anger coiling in your chest. Your hand shoots out, and you wrap your thick fingers around Droog's wrist, lifting him off the ground and squeezing hard. Droog's eyes are no longer flat. You can see a few things in them, very prominently. Fear. Anger. And oddly enough, faint helplessness. He isn't letting go, and you press your thumb against the chink in his forearm, hearing the satisfying crack that made your blood boil. Droog's voice comes out in a choked, desperately pained tone, indiscernable. You feel his hold weaken momentarily, but stubbornly hang on. 

You see red for a moment, feeling heat behind your eyes. The pit of your stomach hardens, and you can feel his power and stamina boiling in his skull. You drag him forward, looking him in the eye, a single uncontrollable tear slide out of Droog's eye, and he looks disgusted with himself. 

"I fucking warned you, Diamonds." You inhale slowly, chest filling with bloody, scorching power you steal from Droog, his will and strength leaving him through his arm and mind into yours. You feel the blood rush in your mind, his control being exstinguished as you feel the air whistle around your arm, and the satisfying, resounding and painful smack of Droog smashing into the wall, back arching and crashing to the ground with a noise that shakes the building. You hear a crash from a room down the hall, and Slick cussing. You groan. Why did you have to wake him up. Droog pushes himself up onto his elbows, but his arms shake and he nearly collapses. Slick kicks his door open, stumbling out into the hall with his switchblade drawn, wearing pajama pants. 

"What the fuck is going on-" Slick sees Droog on the ground and runs over, kneeling. "Droog? Diamonds what the fuck hap-" He lifts Droog's arm and sees the cracked carapace on his inner forearm, where a small patch has collapsed inward to form a heavy dent. His head whips around. "Boxcars?" His voice is warning, but pained. Your fists are clenched and you stand at full height, eyes ablaze. 

"I warned him what would happen if he tried anything with those shadow hands." Slick obiously knew what you were talking about, because his eyes widened. 

"Shit, Droog why the fuck would you do that, what kind of argument were you having?" You shake your head, staring off down the hall. 

"He kept pushing for what my connections were to the hostage, and when I told me he didn't accept my answer. Are you sure nothing's been knocked out of place? That was a bit forward for Droog's tendencies." You breathe, satisfied with the strength you stole from the pathetic psychopath on the ground, being helped up by his superior and matesprit. 

"I can understand why you'd do that Boxcars, and I'm not going to do anything about it. But you two are going to have to SETTLE your differences at some point, before I make you." You nod respectfully at Slick, and when Droog's eyes find yours, you smirk, with a bloodthirsty look that could chill your blood. "Fine with me Boss." Slick helps Droog stagger into his bedroom, but before you go to your own bedroom, you cross the room to examine the wall where Droog slammed into it. There's a small trace of blood clinging to the wall, and you wipe it off with your fingertip. Your face is unchanging as you push the metallic flavor into your mouth, and leave.


	13. Chapter 13

Become Spades Slick. Suprisingly, you do. At the moment, you're helping Droog slide onto his bed, where he sits, staring at his crushed arm with dead eyes. You kick the wall. 

"Droog what the fuck were you thinking you stupid piece of shit, Boxcars is a fucking monster, he's taller than even YOU!" Droog looks up and you make eye contact as you spin back around, boiling with frustration. His eyes are blank and emotionless as usual, but there are darker shadows beneath his eyes than usual, and you could see the pain of his arm by Droog's gritted teeth. He looked back down. 

"I'll have to go.. ask him again later." You were suprised, and expressed this by grabbing Droog's chin and forcing him to look you in the face. 

"Are you KIDDING me Diamonds? You just tried to steal his memories and could have died, I know you want to know how they're connected, but if he gives you an answer you TAKE IT and LEAVE. He could tear you to fucking shreds, and you're already going to do that again?" You push him in the chest and he falls back onto his bed, pushing himself back up again on shaky hands. "Okay, no. That is it, you are getting to obsessed with the hostage, the next thing I know YOU will want to interrogate him yourself." Droog's voice is rough and somewhat hoarse when he slips out, 

"About that-" You spin to face his dresser and smash your fist onto the surface with a snarl. 

"What's wrong with you Droog, this is pretty fucking out of character. How badly do you hate this guy, is it about the frying pan thing? Is THAT why?" Droog's upper lip twitches, exposing white teeth and a small glimpse of grey. 

"No I'm not mad that that little- that little fucking pip-squeak got a hit on me." His voice is coated with deceit, but you can see the anger in his eyes, writhing. 

"You are pissed, aren't you?" You take out your butterfly knife and start flipping it open and closed, pacing. "This isn't like you at fucking all Droog, all he did was hit you with a-" Droog stood up quickly, shaking from his injury. 

"Do you mean, how the book reading plant growing little pansy, somehow knew I was coming into his house THAT NIGHT, and made my skull ring with a stupid cast-iron frying pan? How, I'm supposed to be better than that?" His eyes are darker than they should be, and you snap the knife shut angrily. 

"Dammit Droog, that doesn't make him better or stronger than you, it was a suprise hit-" 

"I'm not supposed to be suprisable, it wasn't just some kind of half-bit break in, yet he somehow woke up, hid, and clocked me. He had to have known I was coming, somehow. Could Boxcars have fed him that information? Does he have cameras in the Headquarters?" You speed up your knife stimming, and throw it onto the ground point first so it lodged in the floor before going over to Droog and yanking on his collar. 

"You're off your rocker Droog, he's just a regular fella, who got lucky, ONCE." Droog stared into your eyes, his flint ones alive with burning hatred. "You fucking pitch or something? Because that's not a thing I would rec-" 

"I'M NOT FUCKING PITCH SPADES I WANT HIM TO DIE." Droog slammed his uninjured hand into the wall, the smash resounding through the room. You look at him with an unnerved expression, surprised not in the good way. "Who are you? Where's my calm, collected, deadly killer? You aren't this, this mess of emotion and rage and lack of thinking, you tried to mindfuck BOXCARS for fucks sake. Have you been sleeping?" Droog was shaking, and you dropped him back onto the bed. "You need to get some fucking sleep Droog, you look like shit and you're acting like shit and you keep talking shit. Get some fucking sleep, I'll keep yelling at you in the morning." You stomp out of his room, and slam the door, going into your own and flinging yourself onto the bed with a growl. You are tired, and just want to sleep again. You feel a slight twitch of worry for the hostage still in the basement with Droog still awake, but you forget about it quickly as you fall asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wowie ladies and gents and nonbinary mixers got us sum FUK
> 
> it's that biznasty hate fuckin my dudes  
> take the angsty smut u has been warned
> 
> suicide attempt mention

Become Ardent Horticulturist. You have to be, you have never been anyone else. You had woken up sometime ago than the present, but you didn't know when. You hum to yourself, still curled up under your new blanket. It was much more comfortable than the chair was, and you doze off a few times, but your senses go on high alert as you hear the lock mechanism of the door creak. Dark, inky purple leaks from beneath the door and turns the light off. You growl. 

"Who turned the light off, stop using your shadow garbage and face me like a mobster." The lock turns again, and when the lights turn on you're faced with the tall one. Diamonds Droog. The one who looks like he wants to tear you to shreds. The one who would pop up in your dreams since you were kidnapped, chasing you down and destroying you with his pool cue and those hands that looked as if they'd snapped necks hundreds of times, as if with a well executed flip, he could end your life. You scrambled to your feet. "W-What are you doing here a-asshole? Fuck off and go back to sulking over your head wound." You noticed the bandages peeking from beneath his sleeve, and you feel satisfied, knowing he was hurt. Droog turned his head upwards to stare at you with hollow eyes of stony white. 

"I'm here to interrogate you, and I don't plan on leaving before you cough up something more useful." You back away, fear gripping you. 

"Don't come near me a-asshole fuck off." Droog yanks on your collar, staring you right in the eyes. He looked tired. "Jesus, have you been sleeping? You look terrible." 

"I'm fuckiNG FINE." Droog yanked you forward then threw you against the wall, pulsing with grimdark shadow magic, stalking towards your collapsed form on the ground across the room. You're sore all over, on your back and scooting away from those dead eyes of hatred and the card in his hand that manifested into a pool cue. It was raised threateningly over your head, and you whimper, scooting away as fast as you can. It's a ghostly purple with shadow magick, and it comes cracking down on your head and fills you with pure terror, an effect of the magic. Your vision clogs with foggy anxiety, stars bursting behind your eyelids from the pain. 

"Dammit stop- stop it you bitch this isn't interrogation it's just you trying to kick my ass!" Droog's eyes filled with forced denial, growling. 

"Not true." He prods you in the stomach with the butt of the pool cue and you wince, whimpering loudly. 

"Careful t-that's where my ban-bandages are stop being a dick!" He stares at you, and without warning lifts a leg to kick you square in the face. You yelp in pain, head hitting the concrete with a painful smack. There's suddenly pressure on your stomach and Droog's thrown himself onto your torso, pressing glowing purple-black hands to your face. He's pinned down your arms with his knees, and you can feel your mind being invaded. The swirling mess of memories and emotion curl around in your mind, and you writhe. "G-GET OFF OF ME-" He's pressing on the place where your bandages are, on the sore plateless place and it fucking hurts. 

You see memories flash in front of your eyes and some are too painful to watch. You see him. Not him. Him yelling at you, him kissing you, him degrading you. You clinging to his side, begging for him to stay, nothing without him, he said. You didn't want to be nothing. You weren't nothing, but he left you heartbroken. You see the memory you often try to forget, when a customer had noticed that the library hadn't been opened on time, got into your apartment, and found you covered in gashes on your throat and wrists and sides and chest in the bathtub, unconscious and bleeding out. She'd taken you to a doctor and fixed you up, but it hadn't been the last time he'd tried. Don't leave me. Don't leave, please please don't leave. Without you I'm nothing. 

Your chest hurts, heavy with Droog's weight, as he shows and reviews things you've tried to forget. Particularly upsetting nightmares where you'd see him and embrace him, him taking you back and forgiving you, only to slit your throat and tell you how worthless you were in the end. Less than worthy of being loved. Being told that no one would ever love you, except him and that you were lucky. How you were constantly reminded that you were terrible, a mistake, a freak, and a horrible unlucky weak piece of shit. You can feel tears streaming down your face, choking out pleas for him to stop. You can hardly breathe, and you're so angry at him, desperate for him to stop, to let you live in ignorance of your worthlessness, why did he have to show you this garbage. He had no soul. No morals. You HATE him. Droog is not worth anything more than you. Your chest expands with a growl of air, your voice weak, pathetic, but venomous. 

"F-Fucking pathetic. Having to resort to mind ga-games because you can't take me man to-to man. Pansy ass little bitch, like feeling in charge, don't you-you? But you aren't. You never were, and never will be. Get-Get off of me before I change my mind about not fighting back." You can feel his barely noticeable hesitation in the way his hands, you realize that have been digging into your skull, loosen slightly. He spits off to the side, removing his hands but almost immediately punching you in the jaw. You cry out, recoiling. "S-Son of a bitch-" 

You move your hips upward, dislodging Droog's hold on your arms so you can retract one and grab Droog's tie. You yank him until he's inches away from you, but immediately knock forward in to head-butt him, lifting a knee between Droog's legs to pin your foot against his chest and kick him, hard. Your mind is still racing in panic and you can feel yourself crying. You feel Droog's influence again, stronger. You curl up on your knees, clutching your head, choking around tears. 

"Stop stop stop I don't want you to do this no no no leave me alone I'm not worthless I'm not I'm not.. Fucking go away Chivalrous I don't want to see you again god I miss you I'm nothing please please come back you were the only one-one who cared y-you son of a fucking bitch jus-just go away-" You see him leave again and again, telling how terrible you are and you scream, voice rough and desperate. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD-" You can feel your eyes burning with tears and something else, and can suddenly feel Droog's life between your fingertips. You close them around his throat, and when you sit back and open your eyes, face blank, Droog is clutching at his neck, scratching as if there's something there with relatively wide painful eyes. "I fucking told you, you stupid bitch." Your voice is deep and resonant, and the heat behind your eyes tells you that you must look terrifying, bruised and bloody, staring up at Droog with a blank expression and eyes shining like twin lighthouses. 

You can feel he's injured, his wrist having recently being crushed. His entire system looked like it had been drained, you would assume by Boxcars as you drag Droog across the ground towards you. You bring a fist down on his skull, and you hear him growl in pain. You kick him in the chest again, and stomp on his stomach where he falls, watching him wretch. You blink and freeze, staring down at Droog who's staring back with eyes brimming with HATRED. Wait, hate- You ignored it, you were still fucking pissed at him so you ground your heel into his torso, watching him grunt. His hands shot up to grab your leg and yanks on it hard. You think he didn't think it through, as you crash down with your knees landing just above his shoulders. You punch him in the jaw repeatedly, growling with anger. 

"You- sick- bitch- fuck- off-" He drags his fingertips down your leg and you snarl at the tears. You yank hard on his tie, tightening it and watching Droog choke slightly. You feel hands slide beneath your armpits, cold. You can tell they're Droog's shadow magic when they hurl you across the room with astonishing strength. You smash into the wall and cry out. "F-Fuck-" When you hit the ground you're shaking, and you slowly stagger to your feet as Droog pushes himself up, growling. 

"Putting up a good fight huh, gutter trash?" You snarl back, moving towards him. 

"Not so bad yourself, antisocial prestigiously pompous arrogant little whore." You see him twitch, and he rushes forward, and he pins you to the wall with his hands planted on your raised forearms to keep you there. You wince, annoyed at how this works for you in a way you don't want it too. Droog's eyes are still dead, winking with anger and you reach out to grab his wrist in exactly the right place, and sink your nails into it. You hear him yelp uncharacteristically, and you laugh, guttural. "Eat shit maniac." Droog stares at you while your hand is still clutching his wrist, painfully tight. There's something else in his desperate gaze, furious. You swallow. "Don't you fucking dare." Droog dares. He stomps on your instep, so your knees buckle, and you're pinned against the wall with Droog's knee keeping you up between your legs. You feel a twinge of annoyance, staring off into the darkness, trying to ignore Droog's eye contact. Vulnerability grips you and you hate how you like it. The tension Droog is giving off is palpable as you slide your hand out of Droog's grasp and dig your fingertips into his neck. 

You can hear the faint noise of indignation he makes as you press just enough to mess with his breathing. You hear the intake of breath shudder, and then gasp as he slams up against you, smashing his mouth against yours so hard pain shoots up through your teeth. He captures your mouth in a relentless violent kiss, and you can feel your mouth bleeding from his teeth digging into your lower lip. You whimper. Damn you Droog. Your hips jutter against him, hands sliding around his lower back to claw carefully at his vest and collared shirt to drag your nails over his sides. He growls into your mouth as you can feel his tongue trying to force its way into your mouth. You let him slide over your teeth and you weakly fight back, digging your fingertips into the joints of his carapace and his own hips move against yours, and you're kissing fast and hard, barely able to breathe. You rut against him, desperately leaving brick red scratches down his sides. He pulls away, breathing heavily as you do the same before you slide your hands back up to drag him in again, constricting his airways. 

He's already hard and you're positive that he was before he had made his move. He drags his fingertips over your cheek, leaving scratch marks that make you whimper. Droog pushes your head back, breathing on your neck. You shudder, moaning and shaking when he sinks his teeth into your neck. You can feel him pierce the carapace, grazing your flesh deliciously light. Your breath is weak and not at all rhythmic. 

"P-Please please you son of a-" Your voice squeaks when he sucks on your neck, fumbling with the buttons of the shirt you'd borrowed from Boxcars. When it's unbuttoned, he doesn't stop his work on the mess of blood that's become your neck to slide it over your shoulders and drop it. He moves and sinks those cursed teeth into your collarbone. Droog stops, growling inches from your face as you feel blood dripping from your lower lip and shoulder. 

"Fucking disgusting gutter trash, associating with those green clock fucking mistakes." He sank his nails into your upper arms and throws you onto the ground. You spit blood, growling at him. He's standing over you, looking confident in his control over you. You want to turn the tables, and you can feel your blood boiling. He thinks he's won. Not for fucking long. You reach a hand out and close it around the representation of his throat, yanking him down onto his knees. He chokes out around your hand. "You s-son of a BITCH-" You manifest more of his energy doppelganger, and he stops growling threats when you slide a hand down to palm at the crotch. You watch his expression, his breath hitching. He's trying to push against your hold on him, but you sigh, clucking your tongue, making it obvious that the dynamics have changed. 

"Oh Droog, so angry. How can you hold such a grudge against me for defending myself? You must have a horrendously inflated sense of entitlement." You move towards him as he gets himself worked over. You kneel in front of you, undoing his tie. "How upset have I made you? I hope you haven't obsessed over me too much." You take his tie and wrap it around his neck differently, tying it flush against his throat, gripping the spare fabric. You push him onto his back, and his legs naturally fall open. You press your open palm to his crotch, feeling the flushed mass uncomfortably stretching his dress pants. You go to work undoing his belt and pants, sliding them down around his calves. "You're such an asshole Droog, I hope you don't treat your matesprit as poorly as you treat your friends." 

Droog noticeably bristles, as you pull on the tie around his neck. He's flushed a blotchy brick red when you push down his boxers. 

"You sick freak, get off on hurting people huh?" You brushed your fingertips over his tip, seeing his eyes narrow and hearing him hiss. 

"What, do you expect me to get down on my hands and knees and put my mouth on your cock? Huh? I don't really care about what you want right now. I'm sun deprived and I need SOME nutrition." You drag your fingertips down his inner thigh, and you sink your teeth into his carapace. you reach the skin and you can feel him shaking. When you have a good enough grip with your teeth, you pull hard. Your dick twitches when you hear him wince badly, making a small noise in his throat. You can taste his pain. You manage to rip the small patch of carapace off. You sink your teeth into the bloody flesh, suckling on the destroyed muscle. You pull off, looking at him watching you. "You taste fucking delicious, why does an arrogant bitch like you deserve this kind of flavor?" You go back to swallowing what you can get from the small wound, tasting delicious and your face is warm. You feel awake and more energized, although you do feel sort of disgusting, but that kind of makes it better. You wipe your mouth, sitting back on your heels. 

"Sorry about that jackass, but you guys have been starving me of organic material." You shoved him in the chest and flip him over, you can see his face flushed. You lean in and drag your fingertips down the back of his thighs, watching him shake. "Are you eager about something Droog? Disgusting eager little bitch." You slap his ass and he growls. 

"F-Fucking let me up gutter trash-" You yank on the tie and his voice tapers off painfully. 

"Do you have lube?" Droog growls. 

"Do you think I came in here planning to fuck y-" 

"Who said you were fucking me?" Droog coughed. 

"Come on-" You move around to lift his chin as condescendingly as possible. 

"I don't mind if we switch afterwards, but I'm going to fuck you first. Of course, it isn't going to be very comfortable unless.." You raise your eyebrows. Droog looks at your angrily, but you can see him shaking at the prospect. 

"No, fuck you-" You scratch his neck, stare him in the eyes. 

"Yes. Or I swear to GPI I'm going in dry." Droog growls, but you see him reluctantly push himself up to sit on his heels, and he starts unclipping your belt. You watch with satisfaction as Droog undoes your zipper and pushes your pants and boxers stained with blood down to your knees. He mechanically opens his mouth and takes your head into his mouth. You shake, wrapping your hand around the back of his head. Droog stares up at you angrily, scraping your length with his teeth. You grin down at him, putting pressure on the back of his head. "Come on now, not too proud to get dirty are we?" 

Droog resentfully stares at you, and loosens his throat up before sliding down around you to nearly the hilt. You smile down at him, a maniac grin sliding across your features as you hold him there and move him along your length. "There we go, good job for an arrogant prude of a slut." Droog's shaking a little, and when he swallows around you you gasp. "Daaamn Droog, good job." You pull him off of you and can see him staring at you, and swallow. You scratch the underside of his chin. "Good boy, let's get this show on the road." You migrate back around to face behind him. 

You dig your nails into his ass with one hand, sucking on your fingers with the other. You work a finger into his ass, and you can feel his muscle flutter around you and you grin, stretching him out suitably and slowly as you can, watching Droog get more and more impatient. You stop the prep and slowly push into him, feeling him push up against you, trying to speed up the process. "Eager little shit." Droog is tight and hot and feels like a vice. You growl, sinking into his ass and marking up his thighs. "Deliciously tight aren't you?" Droog growls, face red and shaking. 

"Just hurry up." You laugh a little and oblige him. You hear his breath catch, and he's trying to move in time with you. You brush up against his sweet spot and he barely bites back a moan. You smile, trying to aim for that spot. You're mostly successful, as he's pushing back onto you and he murmurs under his breath. You leave scratch marks over his ass and thighs as you hear him quietly talking to, probably himself. You can't make out the words, but you reach forwards and grab the loose end of the tie, and yank on it hard. Droog sputters, pushing back up against you and you can feel him tightening around you, you're somewhat far along yourself, but you pull out. Droog growled. "Dammit Cult just-" You shake your head, running your nails along his back. 

"No, I call bottom. You aren't getting off that easily, heheheh." Droog growls, still shaky, but turns to face you. You smile back until he punches you in the jaw, and you go skidding back. Droog drags himself over to you and locks lips with you again. You pull his tongue into your mouth and suck on it, scratching his mouth with your teeth as you feel him grind down on top of you. He slides down to bite your neck hard, angry, You groan, leaving scratches down his back. "Dr-Droog you're fucking me whether you-you want to or not, get off of me so I can get my mouth on your dick." Droog groans, mouthful of your bleeding neck before he pushes back off of you and you kneel. Droog is dripping precum and is an impressive sight. You open your mouth and run your tongue around the tip of his cock, sucking on the head and lavishing him with care. He tasted nice, and you took him into your throat as far as you could, successfully getting him to the hilt. Droog was shaking, before grabbing the back of your head and starting to pump his hips. You gag for a moment but relax, letting him fuck your mouth. You could feel drool pooling in your mouth and you swallow around him. Droog must have been further along than you thought, because he buries himself in your mouth and groans quietly, and you swallow everything he gives you, milking him for everything he has. You pull off, voice sore. 

"Delicious. Nice stamina you've got there." Droog scoffs, still shaking. 

"I'm assuming you still need to be reamed?" You grin. 

"Bingo, bitch." You gesture towards your groin. "Do you want to prep me, or should I?" Droog's eyes have returned to their near flatness, and pushes two fingers towards your mouth. You suck on them, purposefully lavishing them with individual attention. You lie onto your back, spreading your legs. Droog leans down and you close your eyes, ready for him to start working fingers into your ass, and you scream a curse when he pushes himself in without preparing you at all. He sinks in, grinning evilly but you see surprise wink across his face when you squirm, trying to push yourself onto him as far as you can, relishing the biting burn of the stretch. 

"F-Fucking- HATE you-" Droog starts snapping his hips at an unforgiving pace, making you see stars. "God Droog a little to the left please please- " Droog grazes the bundle of nerves inside you that sets you on an indecipherable tangent. 

"God Droog you fucking prat FUCK ME." Droog hikes up your knees over his shoulders, and drives you home. You groan, bucking into him as you cum hard, Droog is still going, fucking you through your climax as you moan his name, spitting less than eloquent insults. 

He growls with a hoarse voice, and finishes for the second time. You can feel the warmth of his cum inside you, as Droog pulls out. You grin at him, a bit lopsidedly. You push a finger into yourself and pull it out, sucking Droog's taste off of your fingertips. 

"Tastes fucking nice, first class flavor you have here." Droog flushes darker, nearly imperceptibly. 

"You're terrible, and I fucking hate you." You laugh, before staring him in the face with a serious expression. 

"You can't always horny your way out of trouble, Diamonds. You're going to have to explain why you thought that was okay to fucking fuck with my memories like that." Droog rolled flat eyes. 

"I felt like fucking with you. You're a dick." You cross your arms. 

"I should have hit you harder." Droog growled. 

"I'm covered in scratch marks, and you drank my fucking blood. You've done plenty." You smile evilly. 

"Heheheh. Try explaining that to Slick." Droog froze for a moment and pinched between his eyebrows. 

"Good god." You kick him in the arm. 

"Good luck. And when you leave, chuck a box of tissues in here." Droog rolls his eyes, already pulling his clothes back on. 

"Fine." He freezes momentarily and starts trying to untie his tie from around his neck, failing miserably. You stand up and stretch, before working your longer nails into the knot and handing him his tie. You step forward and cozy up to him, sliding your hands in his pockets, looking for the cigarettes you could taste on his breath. You find them and take one. He notices and growls, but you poke him between the eyes. 

"No, I'm taking this because you fucking kidnapped me. Now we're.. not even, you're still shitty." He rolls his eyes, although obviously more relaxed. You tug your boxers back on, taking the time to scoop up some of your own cum off your bandages and you wipe it on his tie, watching him become infuriated. 

"What the fuck-" You kiss him and he digs his teeth into your mouth and tongue. You pull back, Patting him a little too hard on the cheek and he winces a little at the contact with the heavy scratches. You grin, starting to pull your clothes back while he glares at the expensive cigarette wedged between your teeth. "You know my tie's fucking ruined now." You shrug, letting your eyes burn with ability again, touching his tie with your fingertip. The organic material seeps off of the fabric, leaving it untouched and unstained. You feel it swirl into your own energy, and feel stronger. The rest of the material around you starts to vanish, de-atomizing into yourself. You stretch, 

"Shiiit, that's the stuff. I'll keep for another day or two." Droog stares at you, and you can see a little hint of confusion in his dull eyes. "You can go now, remember to chuck me tissues or something." Droog starts toward the door as you notice his pool cue lying on the ground. You scoop it up and make up your mind in an instant, swinging the heavy end directly at the back of his head, seething at the memory of Droog's mind games. 

It connects with a savage crack, and he grunts, hitting the door and falling down. He clutched the back of his skull as you push him out into the hallway. You flick the pool cue, turning it into a card and scrawling on the back before dropping it on his head. Before you reluctantly lock yourself back in the basement, you speak, laced with venomous revenge. "Don't forget my tissues dipshit."


	15. Chapter 15

Become Diamonds Droog. You become Hearts Boxcars. You'd gotten some good sleep and gotten up at around ten to your estimation. You'd dressed and gone out to get something to eat with Deuce for lunch, as a bit of an informal date. He'd insisted on getting a chocolate milkshake, which you watched him devour with contentment. This was the way you wish things could be all the time. Gently sunny, with the kind of peace that lets you and Deuce go out to this small cafe and sit together. 

You held his hand while he smiles at you with gratitude for the treat. Everything is soft and comfortable, the city is peaceful and forgiving during the day if you aren't actively antagonizing people. In the present, you were walking back to the Headquarters, holding Deuce's hand. Deuce was skipping a little, humming to himself. You watch him with fondness, and he sees you staring. 

"What?" His voice makes you smile. 

"Nothing, you're just skipping." Clubs grinned at you. 

"It's a skipping kind of day." When you reached the door, you held it open for Deuce, saying, 

"After you." Clubs went inside, staring around, looking if anything had changed. "Clubs." He turned around and you scooped him up, kissing him gently. Clubs squeaked, quickly kissing back cupping your face. You could feel him smiling against your mouth. You chuckle, walking further into the house with your short unoffical matesprit. You hear Clubs giggle, clinging to your collar and kissing your cheek. You stop at the main table and set him down in a chair. He makes a sad noise. 

"Aww, but you're much more comfortable to sit on." You smile slightly, face tinting a slight grey-pink at the slight innuendo. 

"Good to hear." Clubs scrambled onto the table and stood on tip-toe to kiss you again. 

"Better." You chuckle.   
"Pppfff." Clubs smiled at you and you slid your hands forward to pull him closer, hands on his waist. Clubs blushed, but kissed you again, arms around your neck. You make a satisfied sound, kissing him contently. He was such a starry-eyed little guy, adorable naive and wide-eyed, and he tasted like sugar. Clubs made a small noise in his throat and your heart swells. God you're flushed, he's just so sweet. You hear the sound of a door opening, and you pull away to look down the hall. Droog's door opens slowly, and the man of the hour appeared in the doorway. 

"Hey Droog, feeling better?" Your voice is laced with amusement, smugly smiling. Droog ignored you, and as he walked past you and opened the fridge you saw scratches littering his carapace. "What's with the gashes, I didn't cause those." Droog closed the fridge without getting anything, muttering at you. 

"Where do you keep the ice packs?" You sigh, standing up and pressing a quick kiss to Clubs, who smiled. You walked over to the refridgerator and opened up the top compartment, handing him an ice pack. 

"What, did you hit your head again?" Droog's eyes were flat, and he looked as if he'd gotten some sleep since you last saw him. You could see a bit of anger creeping in through his posture, and you felt over Droog's skull. He immediately tried to pull away, but before he did you felt over a slight fracture in the back. "Jesus Droog what happened?" You could see scratches dragging over his cheeks and neck, and your brows furrow. "Did you go get in another fight or something? You should be resting that arm, heh, sorry about that by the way." He avoided making eye contact, and wrenched himself out of your grip. 

"It's nothing, I'm fine." You insisted, grabbing his uninjured wrist as he tried to walk past you, holding the ice pack to the back of his head with his other hand. 

"Droog you should disinfect those things, if stuff got in them before they scabbed over it could get infected-" Droog pulled his arm from your grasp and backed towards his room. 

"I told you, it's fucking fine, it's just a few scratches." You make a frustrated grumble. 

"How the fuck did you get those though?" Clubs was sitting on the edge of the table, looking at a Droog while kicking his feet. 

"Hey, did Cult do that?" Droog froze, staring at Clubs with a slight suprised expression, before it hardened into something more serious. 

"No." You can hear the monotone in his voice lilt. 

"Wait, Droog you have to be fucking kidding me." You jump to a conclusion and Droog glances over at you. You can see a faint tint of grey-maroon painting his face. 

"I don't know what you're-" You slap your forehead, resting it in your palm. 

"Are you shitting me- Droog you fucked Cult?" Droog startled slightly, something you've had to practice to notice. 

"I did no such thing." Clubs whistles, and Droog's head whipped around to glare at him, still flushed. "I swear to god Deuce." You walk towards him, and he stumbles back a little, flinching. He must still remember what you did the night before. 

"Okay, I'm just going to say. That was a stupid fucking idea." Droog maintained eye contact in defiance. "Pitch?" Droog's upper lip twitched, into a slight snarl. 

"I don't need to answer that." You feel a twinge of pity for Cult, wondering what kind of psychopathic shit Droog might do to someone he was pitch with. In your opinion, you don't think he could hold a steady kismesis, too volatile with his anger. 

"Whatever, just keep yourself from getting infected. Is Cult alright?" Droog's hand holding the ice pack twitched. You raise your eyebrows. "Did HE do that?" Droog grumbled, walking back off to his room and closing the door a bit too violently. You groan. "Dumbass. Slick's going to have his head." Clubs nodded solemnly. 

"He's not always as smart as he thinks." You laugh. 

"Yeah. That was a stupid ass decision. I just hope he doesn't hurt Cult too bad, I doubt he can hold down a kismesis." Clubs shrugs. 

"I doubt I could either. I'm not good at staying angry at people." You grin, moving over to him and lifting him again, kissing him. He whined and grabbed at the collar of your shirt, pushing into the kiss. You feel warmth rush to your face at the sound. His little noises always have you hot and heavy. You pull back and breathe, watching Clubs giggle breathlessly. 

"Want to.. move this to my room?" Clubs covered his quickly reddening face and nodded. You headed back to your room with Clubs clinging to your chest, and smile to yourself. Life was good.


	16. Chapter 16

Become Ardent Horticulturist. You become Spades Slick. You arrived back at your secret headquarters, pushing the door open with a metal armful of groceries you had gotten with a hardly pleased attitude. Chores weren't your favorite thing, falling on a list of your most hated activities. The groceries were dropped by the fridge and pantry, only being careful with the bags you knew had glass inside them. You may hate buying and putting away groceries, but cleaning up difficult messes was even worse. The kitchen was empty, along with its table and the living room adjacent to it. It was quiet, and you decided to check up on Droog. Your taller, much more serious matesprit was having a hard time, and you hadn't been in the mood to lecture him on keeping his cool, like you're one to talk. But he was your matesprit, and you were going to do your damn best to get him in his right mind. 

A firm knock on his door resulted in the typical shorthanded response. You pushed the door open, and saw Droog done up to the nines, as usual, although something was off. You couldn't tell what it was until you got closer. 

"Hey Droog, you feelin' any better- What the hell?" He was covered in scratches, scabbed over lines littering his face and neck, and from the look of his hands and the way he winced when you grabbed his arm to turn him towards you, there were more. "What happened, Boxcars didn't come back for another round, did he?" Droog snorted quietly. 

"No, and it's really nothing Slick, there's no need for you to worry." You weren't going to give up so easily, you knew your Diamonds, and the slight tightening of his features was telltale that there was something bigger hurting him. Your face must have betrayed your disbelief in his health, because his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Slick, I'm fine." He winced, and on a hunch you reached up only to have your hand pushed away quickly. It dawned on you. 

"You're kidding me. You hurt your fuckin' head again? What was it this time, did you go try to fight Horticulturist while I was out?" He's injured, but not enough to be incapable of self defense. He'd done a pretty good job with cloroform just having faded from his system. Droog avoided your appraising look. 

"No." You pinched the place between your eyebrows. 

"Droog, I'm still plannin' on getting some more useful information out of him, I hope he's still in one fuckin' piece." Droog pulled a cigarette out of his vest, struggling for a moment to light it with a flame. "Wait." You saw the weakness of the purple sparks, and had seen him easily produce much more on very little notice. How had he used up so much of his- You slapped your forehead. "Godammit, no, Droog, he's already in such shit condition, did you try to fuck up his mind too? You just went through this with fuckin' Boxcars and you tried to use it again?" Droog grumbled, turning to walk away from you and run a hand over his closet door, ignoring Slick. "You can't do so much so fast, Droog, and our little hostage is already running on fumes, you can't interrogate someone who can't fuckin' speak." A quiet growl of a voice came from the turned back of your matesprit. 

"I didn't do anything to the fragile pest, and he's certainly in plenty of health after that loving patch up job on Boxcars behalf." You kick his dresser, raising your voice slightly. 

"This again? Droog he told you what his connections were, and I doubt he'd lie to you about that sorta shit! What did he tell you anyway, what was so hard to believe?" It's so hard to manage an angry Droog. He shuts down, lets everything bake in that complex mind of his, seethes. The this shit happens, the stupid decisions, lack of sleep. He's completely off his game, and he will be until you sort this out. You kick the dresser again, and Droog mutters at you. 

"Stop trying to destroy my furniture." Your foot hurts, but you kick it again for good measure, getting a lengthy, irritated sigh. 

"Why is it so hard for you to believe what Boxcars said? What about this fuckin- beanpole of a librarian makes you so fuckin' angry? I mean I know he hit ya' with a frying pan but that's-" 

"HE DID IT AGAIN." Droog turned to you and you could see the anger creasing his features. 

"What- How the fuck did he get you with one of those things again, all of ours are in the-" 

"NOT A FRYING PAN, HE JUST-" He breathed, trying to regain the composure he'd been lacking for quite a while. "He just, got another shot in on me, that's all. If it's just. Dumb, dumb luck, Slick, than why did it happen, AGAIN?" Droog was obviously failing to calm down, cigarette burning from end to end in a burst of fire. You try your best not to get frustrated with the lack of cooperation Droog was giving you, and you grab his hand. 

"Okay. It's no fault of yours that it happened again. I need you to breathe for me, nothin' gets better when both of us are angry and irrational. That's my damn job." The taller dersite blew out a frustrated blast of purple smoke, eyes following the swirling vapor until it vanished. The hand in yours tightens for a moment, followed by a long exhale and a different hand on the lapel of your suit jacket. When you look up, he looks more like your Diamonds, eyes softer. "You gonna' be okay? I need my right hand man in tip top shape." He nodded, prompting a sharp smile for you. 

"Excellent news, because I did some snoopin' around, and that Gold Thread tip from our little informant is seemin' to be true. Might work on a plan for trashin' the place, if you'd like to help with the details when I get started." Droog's mouth twitched into a small smirk that left you with annoying butterflies. You grab his tie and plant a kiss on his lips, releasing him quickly and straightening your collar to avoid seeing him notice the warmth painting your face. 

"See you at dinner then. Ya' fuckin' mook." When you turn to leave a quick yank on your hand and a skilled moment of spinning leaves your hands resting on Droog's shoulders and tilted off balance on your heels. the hands on your waist lift you slightly, and the small grin that never ceases to make your heart flutter presses against yours. After a moment of gentle chaste kisses he stands you up, pulling a new cigarette out of his vest and looking away with that little smile. 

"Of course." You can't help feeling as if you've gone soft at the warm feeling in your chest that you brush away with a quiet, "Whatever". 

When you leave the room and head to sit on the couch, you see that during the time spent in Droog's room, Boxcars and Deuce had migrated from wherever they'd been before to sit at the table. The fact that the littler guy was fiddling with an comglomerate of explosives, wires, what looked like a alarm clock, and chewed gum made you slightly uneasy. The behemoth on the other hand, had his feet up on a different chair, reading a book you'd probably never be interested in. 

"Deuce, you sure you should be workin' on that in here? The furniture in here hasn't been.. 'blast proofed', or however you keep your bedroom from combusting every time Droog lights up a cigarette within thirty yards." Boxcars chuckled, and Deuce turned his bright unsettling eyes in your direction. 

"Don't worry about it Boss! I've got this baby under control." He ran a hand over the.. mess, lovingly, and Boxcars looked up from his book with a contented smile on his face before glancing over at you. 

"I'm suprised there wasn't more yelling, but I'm glad you two handled that well enough." You squint in confusion. 

"What do you mean?" Boxcars's smile dropped, and he glanced over at Deuce who looked similarly suprised. "What?" Deuce covered his mouth and giggled slightly nervously. 

"Oh! I thought Droog would have told you. I guess not then." You felt a twitch of annoyance, glaring from Boxcars to Deuce. 

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, fill me in." Boxcars licked his thumb cautiously, turning the page in his novel. 

"No, we'd just assumed Droog would have told you he apparently went down to the basement within the last couple hours and um.." He looked at Deuce pointedly. The pyromaniac pulled his hat over his eyes. 

"He fucked Cult." You blinked, letting that sink in for a good moment. Feeling that little phrase rattle around. 

"Boss? Are you alright?" Both of them were looking at you with concerned expressions. You're not.. angry. But this feeling definitely isn't a comfortable one. 

"He- what the fuck-" Boxcar waved away the expression that must be on your face, that even you don't understand what it looks like. 

"Don't worry about it Boss. All those scratches n' shit are probably Cult's work. And from the way he's been acting it's pretty obvious it was a real pitch fuck." You shake your head, slowly going from confused and absolutely not hurt, shut up, to infuriated. 

"The stupid son of a- I TOLD him not to go near that beanpole, and he fuckin'- he fuckin-" You take out your butterfly knife, making Deuce flinch, and start flipping it around in your hands, pacing. "He fuckin' FUCKS HIM!" You throw your knife and it sticks a few inches deep into the opposite wall. You march over to it and yank it out, shoving it back in you suit, mind clouded with the anger of your warnings being blatantly ignored. You see the other two give one another knowing glances out of the corner of your eye as you kick Droog's door open. The smoking mobster winces as you slam it behind you. You're sure the other two can hear you when you yell. 

"YOU BANGED THE HOSTAGE?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone makes it this far and actually wants me to post more, i will absolutely be willing to write more but unless its asked for, i will (at least for now) not be adding any more to this.


End file.
